Break
by pattyrose
Summary: "Be careful what you do to a good woman because when it's all said and done, everyone will have to deal with the bitch you created." - Author unknown. E&B.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: It came to me this morning, out of the blue, and it demanded to be written. It hasn't been beta'd, and it's barely been double-checked by me.**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. Some new ones might pop in. The plot is mine. So are all mistakes.**

 **Break - Chapter 1**

* * *

"Why am I here? Well, let me tell you all a little story…"

 _One year earlier:_

"I feel so tightly wound lately, you know? Like the next issue to pop up in my life is the one which'll break the camel's back, as they say."

"Babe." Alice reached across the table and laid her hand on top of mine, squeezing my fingers. "You need to relax."

"I know. It's just hard."

Sighing, I set down my fork and sat back, pulling my hand out from under Alice's and raking it through my hair. All the while, she watched me through tender, sympathetic eyes until her gentle compassion became a little too much for me to bear. I swept my gaze to the café windows instead and squinted against the noon summer sun, watching the midtown crowd scurry back and forth on their lunchtime errands.

"Bella, I know things haven't been great for you lately. Between Michael nagging you about your articles-"

"My article suggestions have been pretty shitty lately; he's right about that." I chuckled ruefully. "I just haven't been up for the research. So I can't really complain about him giving my space to others." _Like to you, for example_ , I thought.

On the heels of that thought, I felt the heat of shame burn my cheeks. After all, Alice was one of my best friends. We'd worked together for about four years as writers for _The High Line_ , a Chelsea based publication in New York City named after the elevated park and greenway in the neighborhood, a park created on what was once an elevated New York City railroad track.

"Yeah, you _can_ complain about it," Alice said heatedly. "So, you've hit a bit of a rough patch? So what? It happens. He should be more fucking understanding." Alice stabbed at a well-trimmed piece of her pricey wagyu steak, pointing it at me as she spoke. "You've not only put in your time, but it's your articles which put his shitty, underground publication on anyone's radar in the first place."

I smiled at how defensive she was on my behalf. Alice was always telling me to be more assertive. But I was a small-town girl at heart, who for a while, played well at the big-city girl game.

"You better not let him hear you say that. It's bad enough he knows we're good friends. You don't want him taking your articles away too. Shitty by association."

"Oh, fuck Michael. He can go suck it." Alice made an obscene gesture, one which illustrated her words. I threw back my head and laughed heartily, just as I was sure she'd intended.

"Seriously, Al; we're only a couple of buildings from the office. I don't want someone hearing you and getting you in trouble."

"Oh, fine," she muttered. As she stuck her piece of steak in her mouth, Alice's eyes strayed to my lunch.

"Bella, why are you having Ramen?"

"Because I like Ramen."

"Since when?" She raised an eyebrow. "And why aren't you having wine with me?" Her eyes grew wide. "Don't tell me you're finally-"

"No." I cut her off before she could finish. "No, I'm not."

The sympathetic look returned. "Well, are you sure you're not drinking water and eating Ramen because it's the cheapest thing on the menu?"

"I'm sure," I lied.

Alice set down her fork and sighed, reaching for my hand again.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I shouldn't have been so thoughtless and suggested this restaurant for lunch. I know Michael pays by the published article."

Again, I looked away. When Alice suggested this particular restaurant, my ego kept me from suggesting something else, like maybe the hot dog vendor at the corner or Taco Bell down the block, both of which I'd visited pretty frequently lately. Pride also kept me from asking my husband for money. He and I had enough issues to contend with lately.

Alice, however, was never one to worry about money; though I'd never call her flashy. She was one of those independently wealthy trust fund babies who was also a hard worker – and in her case, a great writer. Her mother was a designer, her father a world-renowned surgeon, and she only had one sibling with which to share the wealth.

In an ironic twist of fate, I'd actually been who hired Alice back when I was Michael's golden child and was allowed to make those type of decisions. Back then, she was wide-eyed and fresh out of college, and I'd been Alice's mentor, although, I was only five years older than her. At the time, our age difference made her look up to me, and taking her under my wing gave me validation.

It had been a while since I was anyone's golden child or golden anything. Now, Alice was _The High Line's_ Golden Child, not that she didn't deserve it.

"Hey, lunch is on me, okay?"

"I can pay for my Ramen, Alice."

Alice exhaled, but she didn't push it. "So, I take it things at home haven't improved much?"

I swallowed and shook my head. "Every month is a new disappointment. He wants a baby so badly, and I…" Again, I tried swallowing, but my throat was too dry, and instead, I emitted a strange sound.

"Bella…" Alice said shakily, "you ever stop to think this is putting way too much pressure on you…that maybe he's putting too much pressure on you?"

I shook my head. "He's not. As a matter of fact, he's been really patient. We've been trying for over two years now. At first, we just thought it was taking us a bit longer, you know? Big deal, right? So, we just had more sex."

Alice chuckled. "A great side perk."

I smiled sadly and shrugged.

"Then six months of trying became nine months. And nine months became a year, and still nothing. Then started the specialists and the fertility treatments, and the medical bills with nothing to show for them."

With another prolonged sigh, I fisted my hair.

"And then all that stress started affecting your work and your friendships."

"It's just hard to hang out with most of our friends. They have kids already, and it's difficult to be around them."

"Bella, honey, I keep telling you, all this is just building and building. One of these days, you're going to explode." She leaned in closer and spoke quietly. "Why don't you just tell him you need a break from trying? If he loves you, Bella, I'm sure he'll understand."

"We _are_ taking a break, Alice," I whispered.

Then, I just laid the confession out there. If not Alice, then who could I tell?

"We haven't had sex in almost three months."

Alice's blue eyes grew wide, and she sat back heavily against her seat.

"Wow."

"Yeah. Wow. He suggested we take a break. I mean, our sex had become so scheduled, determined by the moon and dates on a calendar and bodily temperatures." I shook my head. "So, he sat me down one day and said he hated to see the strain it was putting on me."

"That was considerate of him."

"Yeah." I smiled faintly. "He's a good man, he is; and he loves me, and I love him. It's just been a stressful couple of years. Sometimes I feel like…"

"Like?" Alice prompted.

"Like he's been cheated, you know? I mean, we had all these big dreams when we got married and moved here from Washington, almost seven years ago. We'd build our careers, buy a nice place here in the city, have two or three babies. Instead, we're stuck in a small rental because we haven't been able to save enough for the type of place we want in the Meatpacking District since real estate here has gone through the roof."

"It's gone through the roof thanks to articles you wrote for publications like _The High Line_ ," Alice said, chuckling ruefully. "I'm sorry; I'm sorry. It's not funny."

 _Especially since you own a great, three bedroom place here_ , I thought.

Alice's apartment had floor-to-ceiling windows galore, half of which faced the Hudson and the New York City skyline, and half of which overlooked The High Line Park itself. Alice often complained about those windows, about how close they were to the actual walkway. Her kitchen windows overlooked the park, and she often moaned about wandering into her kitchen in the mornings in nothing more than bra and panties and finding tourists with their noses practically up against her window.

'Maybe if you remembered to close your blinds?' I would often tease her. But honestly.

Again, I mentally chastised myself for my petulance.

"It _is_ funny, in a fucked up sort of way," I smirked. "My articles helped the neighborhood with its resurgence, but then my stress fucked with my career, and now my husband and I are mostly living on one salary, and we've got medical bills up the wazoo."

"Bella, I've told you, if you guys need a loan…"

"No, Alice. I do appreciate it," I stressed, "but we're okay. As I said, we stopped seeing the fertility experts a few months ago, and I honestly don't know if we're going to go back."

"Bella…" Alice said carefully, "maybe you two aren't meant to have a baby, and that's fine," she added quickly. "Not everyone is meant to be a parent."

She was right; I knew she was. But my heart still clenched painfully at her words. I was thirty-one years old, in the prime of my life, living in New York City. Yet, I suddenly felt so alone…and so old.

"I've just…I've got this image in my head of giving birth, while the proud daddy helps the baby out and then kisses my sweaty forehead and tells me how much he loves me and how grateful he is."

For a long while, Alice's blue eyes held my brown ones. I could tell from the way she bit her lip she wanted to say more, but perhaps thinking she'd pushed enough already, she didn't. Instead, she drew in a long breath and exhaled it, wiping her mouth with her napkin before smiling gently.

"Come on; let's get back to the office before Michael starts looking and doesn't find either one of us."

"There's only one of us he'd look for," I grinned. "I'm surprised he hasn't asked me to give up my office yet."

Alice shook her head as she pulled out her Burberry wallet. "Let's go. And I've got your Ramen, Bella."

"Thanks, Alice," I whispered, reaching across the table for her hand, "for more than just lunch."

Again, she shook her head and returned to rummaging through her wallet, pulling out a hundred dollar bill.

OOOOO

If I couldn't own the great apartment in the area which my husband and I had once dreamed of, at least my office faced the Hudson River, framed by the Manhattan skyline. It was a great view, and I wasn't kidding when I told Alice I was surprised Michael hadn't asked me to give the office up yet. After all, there were writers on staff with crappier offices, writers who'd actually been productive for the past year or so. Alice, for example, had an office on the other side of the floor, which looked out on faded, brick-faced apartment buildings and garbage-strewn alleys – still expensive real estate to be sure – this was New York – but not the best of views. Then again, she lived with a great view, so she couldn't really complain too much.

Before my mind wandered into avenues of envy again, I returned my attention to the view.

I'd actually been staring at it nonproductively for the better part of that afternoon. The month had started out with a vague notion for an article on the resurgence of vinyl records, a notion which two weeks into the month, had pretty much gone nowhere.

Instead, day after day, I sat staring through the window and seeing my husband's bright eyes, his warm smile, feeling his powerful thrusts filling me back in those days when we made love to make love, not to make babies. God, he was a good lover.

I exhaled through narrowed lips as I remembered how it felt, as my pelvic muscles tightened instinctively at the memories. We used to sleep spooned into one another arms and legs wonderfully tangled. Lately, he slept on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his hands at his sides as if he was afraid to touch me. Perhaps it was my own fault for putting him through all this stress…for not letting him know how much I still craved him for _him_ , not merely to make babies which might not ever come.

Suddenly overwhelmed and constricted despite the office's great view, I decided on a walk. Perhaps a solitary stroll among the gardens, artwork and wandering entertainers along The High Line would help me clear my head, would help me find a way to talk to my husband, would help me find my inspiration for writing once again.

Luckily for me, my office building led right to the park via a small, connecting walkway. There was no denying The High Line's beauty despite the fact that it had once been nothing more than rusting train tracks. Now, it was two winding miles of urban design blended with ecology which provided an oasis for New York City residents and tourists alike. It was a soothing walk, and as I slowly wandered down the grass-filled tracks, I watched the families that wandered with me; some locals, some out-of-towners.

There was a little girl, about three-years-old, who skipped along with her tiny hand encased within her daddy's hand. There was a young boy, perhaps about four, who rode his tricycle, ringing his bell at everyone who passed him.

There was a teenaged boy, perhaps about fifteen and likely a tourist or he'd be in school. He was snapping pictures with his phone, pictures of the flower beds, of the concrete water fountains, and of the steel artwork. When he pointed his camera at one of the apartment buildings – Alice's apartment building actually – I watched his head jerk back. He froze momentarily before his thumb started working with a vengeance. It was then I realized he was snapping pictures of Alice's kitchen.

"Damn it," I muttered as I swiftly approached the boy. Alice had forgotten to close her blinds again, though what the boy found so interesting in Alice's kitchen I couldn't even fathom.

"Darn tourists. And where are his…?"

I reached the young boy and stood behind him. The blinds were wide open alright. Through them, there was a clear view of Alice's immaculate and luxurious kitchen with top-of-the-line cabinetry, countertops and gourmet-level appliances. I knew for a fact she rarely used any of it, except for occasionally wandering into the kitchen in her bra and panties to make morning coffee.

Well, Alice had apparently gone home early, and she was sure as hell using her kitchen now. She was, in fact, naked and using her marble countertop as an ass rest, while some guy stood in front of her and that counter, also naked, ass bared to the world while he thrust frenziedly into her.

"Oh, fuck," I breathed, momentarily as frozen as the teenaged voyeur in front of me.

"They sure are."

Alice's face was awash in lust, totally oblivious to everything around her – well, save the man around her, of course. Her mouth was agape, head thrown back as her lover sucked on one of her breasts then the other. With one hand, she held his blond head tightly against her. With the other, she gripped the counter, using it as leverage with which to move her hips furiously back and forth.

"Oh wow," the young voyeur in front of me breathed. "New York City kicks ass."

His admiring whispers snapped me awake.

"Stop it," I hissed at the boy, pushing down his camera. "Stop taking pictures of that."

"Hey!" the boy complained.

"Excuse me, what's the problem here?"

A man and a woman swiftly approached us, the tourist boy's tourist parents I assumed.

"Your son is taking pictures he shouldn't take," I snapped. Then I looked back at the boy and wriggled my fingers at him. "Give me that phone so I can erase those pictures."

"Oh my God," I heard the mom exclaim as she looked at the window. "How indecent."

Indignant on Alice's behalf, I glared up at the mother. "She's in her own kitchen; she can do what she wants."

"She should close those goddamn blinds," the mother snapped back at me. Then, she looked up at her husband. "Right, James? James!"

Apparently, the young voyeur before me had learned his trade from daddy dearest.

Instinctively, I looked at the window again. Alice now had her lover's hair fisted in both hands, using his locks as reins, as she rode like she was at the rodeo. Though the windows were soundproof, it was pretty obvious she was screaming her head off, eyes pinched shut. I forced my eyes back to the boy.

"Give me the phone," I repeated through clenched teeth.

"Hell no," the boy spat.

"Why, you little-"

As I snatched the phone out of his hands, my eyes flashed back to Alice's windows.

There are threads that tether you to sanity – love and friendship being two of those. I believe that was the moment I lost a couple of those threads. At the very least one of those threads came loose because I literally felt my heart drop to my feet where it constricted…constricted…mangled into bitter pieces…and broke.

Done with her orgasm, Alice's eyes opened, and she stared in horror through the window, realizing she'd forgotten to shutter those damn blinds again. Her lover followed her horrified gaze, looking over his shoulder and through the window, eyes growing wide as well.

At first, the words were just murmured, half-formed thoughts.

"Mother…fuckers."

"Excuse me, miss. Please watch your language around my son. And please give him back his phone."

"Mother…fuckers," I said with only slightly more inflection while I watched Alice and my husband scrambled to get their clothes back on.

"Your language, miss! It's bad enough my poor son just saw what he saw. Please give him back his phone!"

"Dirty…fucking…bastards. Dirty, fucking, cheating bastards."

"For God's sake, your language and the phone!" the boy's mother yelled.

And yes, yes, I admit it; I may have snapped a bit. Empty chest heaving, I whipped my head toward the mother.

"You want the fucking phone, lady? For what? So your dirty little son could jerk off to it tonight?"

The woman gasped.

"Or do you want your filthy husband to jerk off to it?"

"How dare you?" the husband howled.

"Give me back that phone!" the boy's mother demanded.

I looked at the window. Alice and my husband were half-dressed, and as they scurried out of the kitchen, I turned my attention back to the little tourist family before me.

"You want the fucking phone?" I held the phone up high and flung it over the once-rusty railroad tracks. "Go get the fucking phone."

As I sprinted to the stairs which would lead me off The High Line, I heard the boy's mom screaming behind me.

"Someone call the cops!"

With my vision tunneled, I took the steps down two at a time despite my heels. Conveniently enough, Alice's building was just a few yards from the bottom of that particular staircase, another fact she'd often bitched about – the foot traffic its proximity created. I'd commiserated with her on her misfortune. Now, I grinned.

"Fucking bitch."

My steps picked up speed as I neared the glass-windowed entry to her building. Forgetting my manners, I think I shoved someone aside in my haste to get through those doors because a man's deep voice called out, somewhat stunned and concerned.

"Pardon me, miss. You should be careful on those."

I ignored him and his suggestion as Alice and my husband, hastily dressed, stepped out of the elevator. I stopped short.

"YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES!"

I vaguely recall there were perhaps a handful of people in the lobby, leaving and entering the building, retrieving mail, speaking with the building's doorman off to the side and such mundane activities.

Alice froze, but my husband took two steps toward me, palms up.

"Bella, calm down."

"Jasper, you fucking BASTARD!"

"Calm down!" he yelled.

"Bella," Alice said shakily.

I turned my fury on her. "And _you_ ," I hissed, "you goddamn _whore_!"

There may have been some gasping around me; I don't exactly recall that part. It might be on the official transcript.

"Excuse me, miss," someone may have said behind me. "What's going-?"

I was too far gone to deal with anyone but the two assholes in front of me.

"You were supposed to be my friend! One of my best friends! And you're fucking my husband?"

More gasps.

"Bella, stop. This is my apartment building and you're embarrassing me," she hissed.

I jerked back my head. "Are you fucking….? Are you fucking kidding me? _I'm_ embarrassing _you_?"

"Bella-" Jasper said.

"Miss, maybe we should-" the unknown character behind me said.

"You were sitting naked as a fucking jaybird on top of your kitchen counter, fucking my husband with your windows wide open, and I'M EMBARRASSING YOU?"

There were definitely gasps all around us after that. Alice's dainty nostrils flared.

"You damn…" she sneered, shaking her head. "We couldn't just do this like adults, could we?"

I cackled pretty wildly; yeah, I did.

"Doing this like adults pretty much went out the window when you did my husband through the window!"

"This is your own damn fault, Bella," she snapped back. "You were a nag, and he got sick of you."

As I said, I'd lost my heart back on The High Line. Nevertheless, it turned out there was still a piece of it left to mangle. Silently, I looked at Jasper.

"Bella…we've been having issues for a while. You know that."

"We've been having issues, Jasper," I said, "not goddamn lovers on the side."

He sighed and spoke with maddening calm. "Bella, when was the last time you and I talked?"

"Uhm, this morning when we left for work together?"

He rolled his eyes.

"I mean really talked, Bella. When was the last time we laughed together? Watched a movie together? Went anywhere together?"

"We share a life together, Jasper."

"We share an apartment, Bella," he smirked, "that's about it. We haven't even…"

I chuckled bitterly when he trailed off. "Oh, don't worry. I informed your little tramp myself just a short while earlier when I thought she was my friend that you and I haven't had sex in almost three months."

"It's because he loves _me_ , Bella," Alice said. "Not you."

I swallowed past the agonizing tightness in my throat, pushed back the sting in my eyes and the mortification at her words because I refused to cry in front of her, in front of either of them.

"Is that true, Jasper?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Do you love her?"

Jasper's blue eyes held my gaze.

"Answer me, Jasper," I pleaded. "Tell me if it's true." I was even willing to give him an out. "Was this all a mistake, Jasper, caused by the stress we've been under? We can work through it if that's the case." My voice shook as I nodded erratically. "We can work through-"

"He doesn't want to work through it, Bella," Alice hissed behind him. "He doesn't want you anymore. He wants me. He loves me."

"Alice, what the hell have you done?"

It was that same unknown voice again, the one who kept asking questions. I had the vaguest notion that it was the man I'd shoved aside in my haste to get into the building.

"Be quiet, Edward, and mind your business," Alice said, her eyes on me.

"Oh, I'd say this is my business, Alice," the man replied smoothly.

"Jasper, talk to me," I said softly, ignoring the others. "Tell me this was a mistake. We'll work it out, Jasper. Just tell me it was-"

"It wasn't a mistake, Bella!" Alice yelled. "Why do you think he suggested you two stop having sex? He doesn't want you. What's more, Michael doesn't want you on the paper anymore! He's decided to give me your office. Nobody wants you, Bella, because you've lost your touch. As a matter of fact, you've lost more than just your touch. So how could you possibly think Jasper would want to have children with you when you're such a freaking basket case? Two years of trying and you can't even give him a baby; meanwhile, he and I have been together for four months, and I'm two months-"

See, I could've dealt with all the rest. But as they say, there's a straw that breaks the camel's back. And that…was when…my mind broke. I didn't even let her finish.

They say I lunged for her. Jasper had to stand between us while I reached around him for her salon-styled hair, for her expensive blouse, for her filthy, red mouth. They say I actually removed my heels and flung one at her. When Jasper blocked it I grew so furious I flung it at the building's windowed entrance. Who knew one little heel could break a whole glass window?

They say when I couldn't get to her I started beating Jasper. They say it took some unknown man behind me to pick me up by the waist and literally pull me off of my husband. They say the unknown man calmed me, spoke soothing words in my ear, words I can't recall before the cops came and took me away.

They say I made threats.

Perhaps.

Anyway, that's why I'm here now.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Q: How long will the story be?**

 **A: I have no idea, my loves.**

 **Q: When will it update?**

 **A: Whenever I can update, my darlings.**

 **Q: Will it be angsty?**

 **A: What do you think, my dears? ;)**

 **Facebook: Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

 **"See" you soon.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow. The response to the first chapter of this has been…overwhelming, especially since the story wasn't planned at all. Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts, and I truly hope I don't disappoint too much with the rest. :)**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. So do the plot line and all mistakes.**

* * *

 **Break – Chapter 2**

 **Present Day:**

There were worse places than where I was headed that morning. After the year I'd been through, of course, I knew that.

For example, there was the night I spent in jail about a year ago. That…was a nightmare.

Where I spent the next month after that as one of the first conditions to keep my charges to misdemeanors rather than the more serious, felony assault charges, was only slightly less so. Twenty-four hours a day of being monitored, told what to do, what to eat, what medications would make me feel 'better.' As if meds would take care of the issue.

Once that ended, the court-mandated place I had to go every other week for a full year and discuss my 'anger issues,' was pretty horrendous. Two hours weekly of a room full of angry people discussing their triggers, their strategies, and their coping mechanisms did absolutely nothing to improve my outlook, especially since _I_ didn't have 'anger issues.' What _I_ had were a cheating husband and a backstabbing best friend.

So, what happened on that final session last week wasn't my fault. Jacob, the meeting coordinator, obviously frustrated by my lack of participation – although he'd never phrase it that way because our _serenity_ had to be maintained at all cost – requested one last time that I share my story aloud for the group.

"Isabella, you have to stop denying your issue."

"I'm not denying I have issues. I'm just saying a need to manage my anger isn't one of them."

"It'll be good for you, Isabella. It'll be cleansing and cathartic.

"I doubt it."

"Perhaps, by finally speaking your story aloud, you'll accept why you're here."

"I know very well why I'm here. It was one of the conditions to drop the felony charges."

"You'll recognize where you went wrong-"

"I shouldn't have broken that window."

"-which will, in turn, help you rid yourself of some of that anger you carry inside, and you'll _finally_ learn a coping strategy for your triggers," he finished through clenched teeth.

"I only have two triggers, and I don't ever plan to see either one again; therefore, I don't need a coping strategy."

"Either share your story or I won't sign your course completion certificate, and you'll be in violation of your court order."

Personally, aside from the threat, I found Jacob's overzealous expectations more than a bit arrogant and condescending. But obviously, I needed that certificate signed, and my decisions had been taken away from me a while ago. So, I shared.

Perhaps Jacob should've known a room full of already angry people wouldn't react well to a story regarding cheaters and backstabbers. At least, in the ensuing mayhem, Jacob was so anxious to get me the fuck out of there he signed that certificate real quick.

So yes, compared to those two places, this morning's weekly appointment wasn't so bad. If I was being honest with myself, as everyone in my life lately kept insisting I be, some part of me had even learned to see the benefit in where I was headed if not any actual enjoyment. But it's hard to enjoy decisions which are made for you, as were so many of mine of late. The entire engagement was just another reminder of how limited my life had become.

Which is why I sat at the coffee house in downtown Tribeca that morning on a stool which faced the storefront window, defiantly willowing away what was already fruitless time. If I couldn't completely avoid the appointment, at the very least, I'd delay it.

It was a busy, early September morning; the first day of a new school year. Young children were being ushered about wearing brand new sneakers and carrying immaculate new backpacks. They walked excitedly down the block, hand in hand with their parents, who grinned proudly at their 'little me's.'

Then, there were the copious nannies taking their pre-school charges on the first excursion of the morning. Through the storefront window, I smiled at the sight of those old enough to walk and sighed at the ones still in strollers. So many strollers. So many, in fact, I started counting them – two, four, six…

And that's the thing about triggers. Sometimes, you don't know they're there until you're lost among them, and your mind wanders down avenues it has no business visiting.

Like…like to the boy.

The boy was five months old now. He was named after his father; I knew that much from the few, remaining mutual grapevines between us. A bouncing, healthy baby boy. My husband's…my _ex_ -husband's son.

"Bella?"

Startled, I blinked away from the window and looked up into a pair of unfamiliar green eyes framed by a stranger's face.

"Yeah?" My one-word reply was curt and wary, as were most of the words I spoke lately.

"I think this is yours. I…" the stranger offered me a chuckle, glancing down for a fleeting moment before meeting my eyes again. "I heard you order it."

My narrowed gaze moved to the paper cup in the stranger's hand, which at least cleared up how he knew my name since it was hastily scribbled on the side along with Barista-shorthand for my drink preference.

"It's been out for a few minutes, and I didn't think you'd want it to get cold or you would've ordered it iced." The stranger grinned.

Rather than point out the fact that there were a whole lot of degrees between steaming and iced, I took the proffered cup from him and offered the shortest possible form of socially-acceptable gratitude.

"Thanks."

Setting the not-quite-steaming cup of coffee down in front of me, I returned my attention to the window and to my masochistic game. What was I up to? Six strollers?

The stool next to me scraped across the floor, and the stranger took a seat. When he cleared his throat, my eyes slid sideways. He wrapped one hand around his coffee cup while the other hand drummed a spastic beat over the counter. Minutes passed. He kept drumming. He didn't touch his coffee. Finally, I looked over.

"What exactly are you doing?"

The stranger's eyes remained front and center.

"I'm trying to figure out what's so fascinating about this view that would make one miss their name being called by the Barista five times."

For a few seconds, I merely stared at him, only vaguely noting his dark head of hair – the streaming sunlight highlighted a few strands and turned them copper. He had thick eyebrows, but they appeared well-groomed. His nose was slightly crooked and tilted a bit toward me – a sports injury or a fist to the face? Who knew? There were crazy people out there nowadays.

And there went another trigger.

Nevertheless, I quickly pushed that one off its hinges when I saw the small smile which played around the corners of the stranger's mouth. It magnified the rectangular shape of his jawline – a jawline framed with an interesting amount of stubble which trickled down to his Adam's Apple. It wasn't too much stubble, mind you; not enough to look like my dad, who didn't shave once for the entire six months he spent here with me after 'The Incident.' But it wasn't sparse either, not like Jasper's failed attempt to grow facial hair right after our wedding.

Yet another thought I shook off.

Again, if I was being honest with myself, in another lifetime, I may have found the stranger good-looking. Instead, I looked away and toward the windows once more, with no intention of interacting with a complete unknown.

"I have a love/hate relationship with windows. On the one hand, there's so much to see through them. On the other hand…what is it about them that makes people feel safe?"

"Do you mean physically safe?" the stranger asked, his eyes still on the aforementioned window.

"No. Yes. What I mean is, people seem to think they can do the craziest things as long as there's a window in front of them."

"I suppose…there's a false sense of privacy when you're behind a window."

"Yes. Take for example that man fixing his hair in his reflection and looking right through us as if we're not even here."

In my periphery, I saw the stranger nod. "Or that kid who's got his ass pressed right up against my face."

An involuntary chuckle escaped me. But then, I stopped.

"Windows tend to distract me and get me into trouble; so I really should end my love/hate relationship with them. There really isn't much to see anyway, is there? Just people scurrying back and forth, either completely aware they're on display or totally oblivious to the fact that their every move is being scrutinized."

When the stranger didn't immediately reply, I assumed my comment taught him the dangers of speaking with an unknown person.

"So…you don't believe there's anything in between?"

"Nope. People are either complete assholes or complete idiots." I stood up. "Enjoy your coffee."

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, I dropped my shades back in place and joined the rest of the assholes and the idiots. My pace was quick; I no longer enjoyed strolls. Besides, I had an appointment to keep, and Dr. Rose tended to get on my case when I was late.

"So, how have you been, Bella?"

I stopped short so suddenly I almost lost my footing. The stranger reached out to help me, but at the last second, he wisely decided to keep his free hand to himself. Either way, I recovered quickly.

"What the…? What are you doing following me?" I snapped.

He chuckled lightly. "I'm not following you. You forgot your coffee."

Once again, he offered me my cup.

"Oh. Thanks. Again."

I took the cup and turned.

"You don't remember me, do you?" he asked behind me.

I spun around slowly, eyes already narrowed. The stranger was dressed in running clothes: dark sweats and a tee shirt, one of those moisture-wicking, jersey ones that absorb sweat.

"Should I remember you beyond the five minutes in the coffee shop?" I asked, my tone admittedly rude and laced with wariness. Trust wasn't something I possessed in droves anymore.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment before replying, but then he smiled and shook his head.

"No. No, I suppose you shouldn't."

"Good," I smirked. "For a second there, I thought I'd have to add 'Bad Memory' to one of my many issues. Goodbye."

I made it half a block before he fell in step with me. Stopping again, I threw up my empty hand.

"What the hell is your problem?"

He grinned. "I swear, I'm not following you. We just happen to be headed in the same direction." He pointed somewhere behind me. "I went for my morning run, had my coffee, and now I'm headed home."

I stared at him. He shrugged and dug his hands in his pockets, his stubbly Adam's apple bobbing.

"I was also wondering if you'd mind providing some clarification on that dim philosophy you just shared."

"No. I don't think I will."

I resumed my stride, but the damn stranger took a stand in front of me.

"Look, you're starting to aggravate me, and I've been told I don't deal well with aggravation. So, get out of my way before I spill this cup of not-quite-steaming coffee on you."

He grinned. "I just don't think everyone deserves to be classified as either an asshole or an idiot."

"Well, then you'd definitely fall into the latter category. Now, move." I held my coffee cup up between us. "Don't think I won't do it. Trust me; I've been known to do worse."

"That would be pretty ironic, especially since I'm the one who brought the coffee out to you – twice," he smirked.

"My fucking hero." When I raised the cup higher and quirked an eyebrow, the stranger stepped out of my way. He was still smiling though.

"I'll admit, I'm strangely and probably stupidly intrigued by your behavior."

"I'm not trying to intrigue you."

"Yet, you do."

"Seriously, dude, you're wasting your time and barking up the wrong tree here, not to mention the fact that you're messing with my serenity. I am not interested _at all,"_ I emphasized.

" _Ohh."_ He nodded. "Oh, okay."

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "No, I'm not a lesbian; though it would've made my life abundantly easier had I earned the privilege."

The stranger took a slow, careful step toward me.

"Well, from what I know, the privilege is more one you're born with rather than earn."

"Yes. That's what my therapist keeps reminding me – court-mandated therapist, by the way. Are you sure you want to keep following me?"

"I wasn't following you." He chuckled again but sobered rather quickly. "Bella…I'm sorry for…whatever happened that's forced you into court-mandated therapy."

I waved away his unnecessary and unappreciated sentiments.

"Yes, well. I'm about to be late to the said session, and unless I want to find my ass in jail again, I need to get going. And if you don't want to find _your_ ass in jail," I snapped much more gravely, "you'll stop following me."

Strangely enough, when he stepped back, I felt a momentary pang of disappointment. But when he spoke again, his tone remained gentle.

"Have a good day, Bella."

Without replying, I turned and headed for the subway entrance.

"And by the way," I heard him call out, "there are those of us who fall somewhere in between."

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **Facebook: Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

 **"See" you soon.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks so much, guys, for all your wonderful thoughts. This…is turning out to be a special story for me. Glad you guys are enjoying it.**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. So do all mistakes.**

* * *

 **Break – Chapter 3**

 **About a Year Earlier…**

 **Unofficial Notes (To be transcribed later) taken during second court-mandated therapy session between myself, Dr. Rosalie Lane-Stevens (Dr. LS) and Isabella Hale, Age 31, new patient referred by court system on condition for dismissal of felony charges. Initial/Referred Diagnosis: Clinical Depression**

When asked where she'd like to begin, what's on her mind since last, mostly uncommunicative session, Isabella replies,

"Beyond the unfairness of my being here on an early Monday afternoon while another woman sits in my office, writes an article I should've written, carries a baby I should've carried, and sleeps with my husband every night? Not much."

She's still angry. Based on the statements, perhaps understandably so? Nevertheless, I calmly reiterate what we touched on in the previous session.

"As we've discussed, those events were both results and impetuses for various chains of events, but they're not actually why we're here."

"You're right, you're right; they're not why we're here."

Isabella lays across the plush sofa in my office, yet her eyes restlessly roam the room. She takes in the soft gray of the walls, deeply inhales the lavender-scented candles, gazes at the low-lit lamp, stares at the white noise machine on the side-table, and silently scans every one of the quotes of feminine encouragement I keep scattered around the room, framed on walls and propped on my desk.

' **Breathe, darling. This is just a chapter, not your whole story.'**

' **In here, you're allowed to scream, you're allowed to cry, but you're not allowed to give up.'**

' **A scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, "I survived."'**

' **Self-care Tip: Be careful what you say about yourself because you are listening.'**

And so on.

Then, she snorts. As with our first session, I get the impression her case hasn't been handled with the compassion it deserves. Therefore, rather than calm her, the room and my tone further the cynicism which has begun to set in.

She sits up suddenly and faces me, chest heaving.

"Let's be honest, Dr. LS. We're here because I threw a perv kid's cell phone over the railing. Hence," she lifts her pointer finger, "one count of Destruction of Private Property. Then, I made some threats I obviously would've never carried out. I mean, who can kick that high or chop a body part into that many pieces – especially that particular body part?"

"You'd be surprised by the number of women who've attempted it."

It may not be the most professional reply, but I get the impression that Isabella will appreciate it; will appreciate the hint of knowing she's not completely misunderstood. Sure enough, her brows furrow for a moment, as if surprised by my statement. But then the anger resumes.

"No, I don't think I'd be surprised; not anymore. Either way, those threats led to," she lifts another finger, "a much more serious count of Criminal Threat. Then, I accidentally broke a window," she lifts yet another finger, "which resulted in a count of Destruction of Public Property. And because the previous charges apparently weren't enough, it turns out **I** disturbed the peace; hence," she snorts and lifts a fourth finger, "the charge of Disturbance of the Peace."

The way she enumerates the charges leads me to believe that as furious as she seems, she's more ashamed than anything. What's more, she's withholding one – obviously the hardest one for her to acknowledge.

"Those weren't all the charges, Isabella."

"Yes, yes." She splays her hand wide, and I'm sure she doesn't realize how she's hiding her face behind the splayed hand. "I may have struck my husband once or twice, which led to an Assault charge."

"It was more than once or twice, Isabella."

Despite the necessary reminder, my tone is sympathetic. Jesus, the woman deserves some right about now. I know how the system works; the apathy that results from years of hearing one case after another. Occasionally, apathy shifts into automatic accusation, especially toward us women. God, I hope I never turn into one of those heartless bastards.

Digressing.

"And I think," I continue in the same sympathetic tone, "it might be a good idea if we practiced your calling Jasper ( _the bastard, cheating husband_ ) your ex-husband rather than your husband, in light of the papers he filed last week. _(Heartless cheating bastard too)._ What's more, and this is entirely up to you, of course, you may want to consider reclaiming your maiden name."

"My…maiden name?"

She echoes the suggestion shakily as if I've just untethered her from her anger and instead let her loose into oblivion (Explore that thought further later – may be on to something there).

"I don't know…I don't know if I can do that," she confesses. "'Hale' has been part of me for so long, part of my identity for so long."

And that right there is one of the reasons I abhor the common practice of dropping your maiden name and taking solely your partner's surname in marriage. The woman has lost all sense of self. Yes, only a couple of months have passed since her breakdown in that building lobby, and the scars of that heartache and betrayal are still fresh, still seeping, still oozing. Yet, as one of my framed quotes of encouragement reminds my patients, ' **A scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, "I survived."'**

This woman needs to start patching up that scar and reclaiming her identity – pronto.

"Again, it's entirely up to you. Jasper _(the cheating fuck_ ) hasn't made you give up the name a requirement in the divorce settlement. Very generous of him, as was his and Ms. Cullen's ( _the tramp_ ) willingness to drop the felony charges of Criminal Threat and Assault as long as you submitted to all mental therapy requirements required by the courts." _(In my opinion, the only favor those fuckers did this woman)_.

I'm digressing again, and in my periphery, I see Isabella twist her head and look up at me, so I set the pen down quick. For a couple of seconds, I can't understand why she looks so shocked until I think back to my last statements and realize how sarcastic they probably sounded. Shit. I'm allowing my own feelings on the subject to seep through. While Isabella scrutinizes me, I try to keep my expression cool and collected.

"Isabella, I tend to believe it's easier to reclaim one's own personality when you shed everything that holds you bound to someone else's – especially someone who may not deserve his or her name attached to yours. ( _Fuck, there I go again_ ). But again, your choice."

When I grin this time, there's nothing mild nor placid about my grin. Oh, screw it. The woman needs to know I'm not an apathetic fuck like most of the people she seems to have dealt with up to this point.

"Isabella…Swan," she murmurs, swallowing hard. "Sounds strange." Then, nostrils flaring, she rakes a hand through her hair and fists it tight at the crown. "Be honest with me, Dr. LS," she chokes, "they deserved it. Just be honest with me. I just need to hear it once, and I'll feel better. They deserved it after what they did to me."

Crap. I have no one but myself to blame for this. I've allowed myself to be the patient here.

When I reply, I neither hesitate nor rush through my words.

"Isabella, I know you experienced a deep heartache, a break in trust and-"

It's the wrong thing to say. With a huff of frustration, Isabella throws herself back across the couch.

"This is pointless."

Jesus, she won't be an easy one, which actually makes me proud of her. She's a strong woman.

"Isabella, imagine if people went around beating their cheating partners and/or those with whom the partner cheated? It would be chaos."

"Maybe there'd be less cheating going on."

"Alice Cullen was…is pregnant."

The agony which flickers behind her eyes before she shuts them and cringes makes my own heart ache. But I _had_ to remind her. I had to.

"I wasn't thinking clearly. I mean, I'd like to think if I'd actually been allowed to get to her, I wouldn't have- I mean, I would've kept myself from hitting her."

"What does that tell you, Bella, when you admit you weren't thinking clearly?"

She doesn't reply.

"As I began saying," I say soothingly, "I'm aware that what you experienced was both heartbreaking and infuriating on so many levels, but perhaps, as angry as you were and still are, and with due justification," I add ( _though maybe I shouldn't_ ), "you know deep inside that losing your patience so completely wasn't the right way to handle things."

She swallows, her eyes glassy, and I clearly see her struggle not to cry. I wish she would. I wish she'd scream and cry just like one of my frames suggests. Let it out. Her police records say she screamed her head off in that lobby, screamed and screamed until someone calmed her down. Doesn't say who.

Had she kept it at screaming, we wouldn't be here right now.

Then, all at once, Isabella's expression goes blank, and she just lays back limply – emptily.

"I know what your quotes say," she snorts. "But Dr. LS, sometimes it does feel like **this** was my entire story. Sometimes…I don't want to scream or cry. I just want to give up."

Ah, Jeez.

For a few minutes, I allow Isabella to lay there quietly, with the scent of lavender and the white noise machine comforting her while I think through my words.

 _Vera, my love, thank heavens you're not an asshole. No, I don't believe we need someone else to complete us, but it sure is good when we have someone to share ourselves with. Maybe someday, Isabella will learn the difference and find someone to share herself with._

"Listen to me, Isabella Swan. Are you listening?"

She nods hesitantly.

"I'm not saying you were wrong to feel what you felt. I'm saying the way you expressed it isn't acceptable in today's society."

"All my life, I did everything right, the way it was expected of me. By all accounts, I was a good baby." She chuckles, and I chuckle along with her. But then, she sobers. "When I was five, and my parents divorced, I took it well. Their separation was friendly, so it's not even as if there was any tension for me to contend with. My mom remarried right away; I was the flower girl at her wedding, my dad gave her away. We all lived in the same town and remained one, big, happy family."

"Go on, Isabella," I prompt after another few minutes of silence. "What else did you do right…or at least, in the generally accepted definition of 'right?'" ( _Because we all know how kind and wonderful that definition can be_ ).

"I got good grades, made good friends, never rebelled as a teenager. While other kids my age were off getting high and/or having sex in the back of their cars, I was studying for the next day's tests. My senior year of high school, I fell in love with the…right type of guy." Another snort. _(Jesus, the snorts of cynicism alone are going to take half a year of sessions to do away with)._

"A boy I'd known since fifth grade," she continues. "We were one another's firsts, went off to college together, got married, moved to New York City; did everything in the generally accepted order." She turns and scowls at me. "I did everything by the playbook, the way society expects it, and then I got fucked over royally. So please don't speak to me about doing things right."

And right there, in that little speech, Isabella has already dug into one of the roots of her issues, though she doesn't even see it. A lifetime of pleasing others, in combination with selfish people and expectations, and all of it magnified by a clinical predisposition to depression.

Lots of people think therapy takes so long because it takes a while to get to the root of a person's issues.

The truth is, we all have issues; and for all but the most fucked, those issues are pretty obvious within the first meeting or two. What takes so many sessions is learning how to deal with them. And really, therapy should be a life-long endeavor, not something mandated by courts when our issues become too much to bear.

Oh, fuck this.

"Ah, but you're not listening, Isabella. I didn't speak about doing things right." She sighs. "Isabella, in this room, I don't divide things into categories of right and wrong, normal or abnormal. In this room, I want to discuss _you_ , what _you_ feel and how to deal with those feelings and emotions in ways which will keep _you_ healthy, both emotionally and physically, without categorizing you into wrong or right, normal or abnormal because you're not, Isabella. Like most of us in this world, you fall somewhere in between."

"People are assholes," she says. However, she looks at me with less wariness…less distrust.

"Some are." I agree because come on, some totally are. "However, not everyone is an asshole. It's our reactions to those assholes, our reactions to our emotions which are judged and scrutinized, and it's those reactions which we must learn to deal with in a socially acceptable manner. People are sieves, Isabella. The events in our lives are like sand constantly running through us and shaping us. Sometimes, we're filled with sand from many different beaches all at once, and especially we women tend to get focused on how well we can sift all that sand rather on whether sand from that particular beach even belongs there. And just like sand, it sieves so gradually that we barely notice the blockage until that sieve is blocked so tightly nothing can get through. That's when our issues rise to the surface. What we have to do is learn what kind of sand, what _triggers_ block our sieve, and then learn how to sift through that sand to keep the blockage from happening. Does that make sense, Isabella?"

For a long while, my new patient holds my gaze. "Would you mind calling me 'Bella?'"

"Sure," I say. And then…I do something which may not be completely professional, but if I don't keep my humanity in this profession, I'll be no good to anyone. "And why don't you call me Dr. Rose?"

OOOOO

 **Present: Bella**

"Where should we begin today, Bella? What's on your mind since our last meeting?"

"Not much beyond the usual."

The question and answer were pretty basic as far as therapy sessions went, but they were also sort of a running semi-joke between Dr. Rose and me; though, she would never admit it. Contrary to what was the case with most of the people with whom I communicated since 'The Incident,' I rarely spoke to Dr. Rose with that bite I found hard to repress with everyone else nowadays. In fact, on those days when I felt most straightforward, I could admit to myself that my weekly therapy sessions with Dr. Rose were one of the good things which resulted from 'The Incident.' It hadn't started out that way.

The television shows pretty much had it correct: my therapist's office was a warm and inviting room, with low lighting emitted from a lamp on her table, soft plush rugs, framed pictures meant to offer encouragement, and two sofas with plenty of pillows, one on which she sat facing me, and the other on which I laid, staring up at the ceiling, with my socked feet elevated on a couple of pillows. All in all, the entire environment invited one to pour their unfortunate hearts out.

"We're here because a whole year ago now, I caught my best friend fucking my husband through a window."

Something that most of the television shows didn't have correct? Dr. Rose wasn't an argyle-sweater wearing man in his sixties; she was a gorgeous woman about my age, maybe a handful of years older, with blond hair she always wore in a messy bun, and bohemian blouses she always wore tucked into faded jeans which she always wore tucked inside knee-high boots. Somehow, she exuded compassion mixed with confidence mixed with a no-bullshit attitude.

Therefore, at my blasé reply, Dr. Rose looked up from her notes and raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. Chuckling quietly, I sighed and raked a hand through my hair.

"Actually…I've started writing again."

Dr. Rose set her pen down and grinned.

"You like that one, don't you?" I grinned in return.

"Oh yeah. I totally do. Go, Bella!" She raised a fist in the air. "That is a total win."

I laid back on the sofa and snorted as I stared up at her ceiling, though I kept smiling.

"Don't get too happy yet, Doc. You don't even know what I'm writing. It might be total gibberish."

She was silent.

"Aren't you going to ask me what I'm writing?"

"No. I don't care what you're writing, and at this point, neither should you. It could be the worst shit in the world. It could be a shopping list. It _might_ be total gibberish, Bella, yet the fact that you've cracked open that Mac is thrilling. When did this happen?"

"I don't know." I shrugged. "A couple of weeks ago, I guess. There's this coffee shop by the apartment which I'm apartment-sitting. It's an interesting place, located just right, with a park across the street and big windows looking out to said park. Lots of different characters walk by…and stroll in." Another shrug. "I just felt…inspired again."

I could hear the irrepressible grin in her voice as she spoke. "Bella, I swear, if hugging a patient wasn't frowned upon, I'd hug you right now."

I laughed so hard my back arched off the sofa. "Maybe I could steal you away from Vera?"

"First, no," she said. "Second, I've already told you, you can't wish yourself into lesbianism. And third, we don't _steal_ people, remember? At least, not in that sense. In that sense, people go willingly."

"Yes, Yes, I remember. Everyone is responsible for their own decisions, and not every man makes decisions selfishly."

"That sounded extremely rote," she said dryly. "The point is you have to trust people, Bella, and that includes men." She chuckled. "And yes, there is such a thing as reading the signs and not walking around blindly." She paused for a few moments. "Tell me something, Bella. When you're driving, and you reach an intersection, what do you do?"

"I don't drive much. I don't have a car, and I live in the city."

"Bella…"

I laughed.

"Okay, okay. If there's a red light, I stop, and if there's a green light, I go. Pretty simple."

"There's more than red and green lights, though, aren't there, Bella? What if the light is yellow? Better yet," she said before I could reply, "what if there's a stop sign at that intersection? A big, bright red, and with four short letters which spell out a pretty important word, stop sign?"

"Well, a Stop sign is a warning."

"It's a sign, letting you know you have to stop and look both ways. Unless there's an actual WARNING: DANGER sign at that intersection, it's okay to proceed cautiously as long as you don't completely speed right through. We don't ignore Stop signs, but they don't necessarily mean what's up ahead is bad. My point is, Bella, there is more than green and red, more than bad and good, more than asshole and idiot – though I am glad we finally moved on from all assholes." Her tone softened. "You once knew this, Bella, and you'll know it again. Trusting others begins with trusting yourself, and opening that laptop to write…that shows so much trust in yourself."

"Someone else said that to me a couple of weeks ago."

"What? That trusting others begins with trusting yourself?"

"No. That not everyone can be classified as an asshole or an idiot."

"Oh. Who?"

"Some weirdo in the coffee shop I mentioned. I think he was trying to make the point that he couldn't be classified into one of those categories."

"Sounds like you had…an involved conversation."

"Not really. He followed and harassed me all the way to the train station."

"Followed and harassed you?" Dr. Rose's tone rose in slight alarm. "Why didn't you call the cops?" She sighed. "Isabella, we've spoken about your distrust of cops. They're just like all other human beings, and you can't distrust the entire force-"

"No," I chuckled. "No. It sounds a lot more cryptic than what it actually was. He didn't really follow and harass me. I mean, yes, he really followed me and harassed me, but it wasn't in a stalker sort of way. Of course, it was in a stalker sort of way because followed and harassed are the basic definition of 'Stalker.'" Again, I chuckled. "But I didn't get that underlying 'dangerous' vibe from him, you know? Though," I sighed and fisted my hair, "I could be totally wrong, and he may be a fucking lunatic who wanted to do all manner of horrendous things to me."

"You could be wrong, and you could be right. The point is, you got a vibe from this person, which means _you can still get vibes_." And there went that pride in her voice again. "Writing and vibes in one session. I may swoon."

"Oh, shut up."

"Bella, I get the feeling this patient/doctor relationship went off track somewhere. Anyway, while yes, you always need to be careful, Bella, especially with strangers on the street, not everyone is out to hurt us."

There was a short moment of silence, while we were both lost in thoughts, and then I heard her say, "Hmm." When I looked up at her, Dr. Rose was busy scribbling in her notebook.

"What does, 'hmm,' mean?" I asked.

"'Hmm' doesn't mean anything, as you very well know. It's just a sound."

"It's a sound that means something."

Dr. Rose looked back up at me and shrugged. "You said your writing inspiration began a couple of weeks or so ago?"

"Yeah?"

"Hmm. Actually, let's switch subjects. Do you want to tell me more about this discussion you had with the stranger?"

"Not really, no," I said, swiftly laying back down. "You know what I would like? I'd love to know what you write there. It doesn't really seem fair that it's obviously all about me, yet I'm not allowed to see any of it."

"Life isn't a game which can be classified as fair, but neither does that make it unfair. Something else we've discussed."

"Yes, but we're not discussing 'Life,' Dr. Rose," I smirked. "We're discussing your notes."

"Every discussion, Bella, is a discussion of 'Life.' It's a very involved and very complicated endeavor. Yet, it's one which can also be quite fulfilling if we understand ourselves and our personal motivations."

I knew the topic she wanted to touch on with that 'fulfilling' phrase. But it wasn't one I was in the frame of mind to discuss that day. The little family with the newborn boy crossed my mind. I shifted my gaze to the framed picture of a vast, blue sky she kept in her office, with the words _'Focus on how far you've come, not on how far you have left.'_

Dr. Rose's gaze followed mine.

"Alright, Bella. I think we've touched on enough for today."

I sighed. "How much longer do I have to do this?"

"I'm offended you see our sessions as a punishment, Bella," she chuckled.

"They're court-mandated, remember? It was the only way Jasper would drop the assault charge or agree to convince his baby mamma to drop the Criminal Threat' charge, both of which could've landed me behind bars for a couple of years. This once a week, and anger management once a month. Fuckers."

Dr. Rose kept chuckling. "Fuckers, indeed. However, as I've told you, I truly believe every individual on this planet would benefit from one on one time weekly with a professional therapist. So, in that at least, they did you a favor. In more, actually, if you're of a frame of mind to see it that way."

"And that belief in therapy for all has nothing to do with the fact that _you're_ a therapist, does it?" I grinned and sat up. "In that case, Dr. Rose, I shall see you next week. Same time, same place."

OOOOO

"What are you working on there, Bella?"

The voice startled me so much that my fingers slammed into their respective home keys all at once as I jerked back.

 _asdfjkl;_

"Fuck."

While I backspaced the gibberish out of my document, the stranger hissed through his teeth.

"Sorry. Did I make you mess up?"

When he leaned in and stuck his face in the space between my screen and me, I reached out and shut the laptop, barely missing his slightly crooked nose.

The stranger turned his head slowly and took me in over his shoulder, green eyes apologetic and soft grin sheepish.

"Sorry. That was intrusive. But what was it? It looked interesting."

"Uhm, Stranger? You're so damn lucky I'm not fond of cops or I'd be screaming my head off just about now. I still might, so this little game you're playing?" I pointed my finger at him and moved it around in a vague circle. "It's at your own risk."

He chuckled and wisely retreated from his invasion of my personal space.

"Bella, I hate to break this to you, but this coffee shop has been _my_ morning pitstop for a few years now, so if anything, _you're_ the…" – he cleared his throat – "uhm, relative stranger here." His thick eyebrows furrowed curiously. "Have you been living around here all this time?"

"What do you mean 'all this time?'"

Again, the stranger cleared his throat. "I mean, before a couple of weeks ago, I'd never seen you in here, and as I said, it's been my pitstop for a few years. But you've been sitting here, at this same spot, for a couple of weeks now, typing away."

"Do you even realize you've just admitted to stalking me?" I choked in disbelief.

He had the decency to turn red for a few moments, but then his apparently irrepressible grin reappeared.

"Once again, as I said, I stop by here every morning. It's not my fault if I notice you. And would a stalker admit to noticing you every morning for the past couple of weeks? Anyway, obviously, I've tried not to bother you, but…I guess I got too curious."

"You know what they say about curiosity. And apparently, this place is a popular spot, which seems to gather a crowd around this time of the morning," I added pointedly. "So, maybe I've been here all along, for years, and you just haven't noticed."

"Trust me, Bella, I would've noticed," he said softly. Then, he chuckled. "But yeah, it's pretty popular with we who are termed Millennials, and who were born with a coffee cup in hand. So, you still haven't answered me. _Do_ you live around here?" he asked yet again.

I snorted indignantly and crossed my arms against my chest. "As if I'd tell a perfect stranger where I live."

The stranger smirked and rolled his green eyes. "I'm not asking for exact GPS coordinates, just for a general vicinity; a hint, if you will, of whether you're within a one-point-five-mile perimeter of here."

I sighed and pursed my lips. "Perhaps. Temporarily."

He frowned in confusion. "What does that mean?"

"I'm sort of house-sitting for a few months. Some old friends of my dad's, a married couple from back home who moved to New York a couple of decades ago, asked me to watch their place for a while. They're both retired."

"Ah." The stranger nodded and took a sip of his coffee, licking his top lip as he pulled the cup away from his mouth. "So, they travel a lot?"

"Not in the past, but they're making up for it with a vengeance on a one-hundred-and-eighty-day cruise around the world."

The stranger whistled low through his teeth and set down his cup. "A one-hundred-and-eighty-day cruise around the world? Do those really exist?"

"It seems they do. They're visiting something like ninety-five destinations, places like The Panama Canal, Cape Horn, Alaska and the Aleutian Islands, Machu Picchu, Rio, Cuba, Ireland, Japan-"

"You realize you're mixing countries with cities and landmarks, and you're not reciting any of them in any sort of geographical order." He laughed, green eyes sparkling with amusement.

"The point is," I said, "it works out conveniently for me and my circumstances."

He sobered. "How so?"

Talk about windows; the stranger's eyes were like two round pieces of glass – green-tinted glass with flecks of brown here and there and so crystal clear they were almost translucent. I glanced away. Windows definitely got me in trouble.

"Well, do you remember that court-mandated therapy I mentioned the last time you accosted me?"

"I wouldn't word it that way," he smirked, "but yes, I remember the court-mandated therapy."

"It was in conjunction with a few other requirements, which thank fuck I've completed. However, the therapy was an eighteen-month mandate. I'm a year in, so I've got six months to go."

"And at the end of those six months?"

My gaze panned to the storefront window…to the park across the street which constantly distracted me with its horde of screaming children…and laughing caretakers.

"At the end of the six months…I'm thinking of moving back home."

"Where's back home?"

I swept my eyes back to the Stranger, frowning.

"In general terms, of course." When he rolled his eyes, I chuckled in spite of myself.

"Home is the Northwest part of the country."

He quirked a brow.

"Washington State, and that's as specific as I'm getting."

"Why, do your issues with geography prevent you from being more specific?"

"No. My issues with stalkers do."

He chuckled. "Okay, okay. So, you're a small-town girl."

"And? What's wrong with that?"

He put both hands up, palms out. "I never said there was anything at all wrong with that. It was just an observation."

"Are _you_ originally from here?"

He nodded. "Born and raised a city boy."

"Hmm," I said.

"And what does 'hmm' mean?" he asked with obviously feigned indignation.

"According to my therapist, it means nothing at all."

He chuckled and held my gaze, smiling softly. "You're intriguing, Bella."

"And you're interrupting me, Stranger. I was just in the middle of a bout of inspiration."

"Yeah, I kinda noticed that. It was fun to watch."

Again, our gazes held. I blinked away from him.

"Now, if you'll excuse me. I really do want to get back to this before I lose my train of thought."

"All right, Bella. Enjoy your writing and your untouched coffee. But I warn you; if I see you here again tomorrow, I might interrupt again."

"And I warn you again, you're playing this game at your own risk."

"I kind of get that." His hand suddenly reached out, as if he meant to touch me, but then quickly, he patted the table next to my laptop in one of those 'I'm getting up now' manners.

"Take care," he murmured.

I should've let him walk out with his coffee in hand, hair and wicking shirt damp from his run, smelling of soap and sweat. But the question erupted before I could take it back.

"Hey, Stranger, since you know my name and feel so comfortable throwing it about, _and_ since you've already threatened to interrupt me tomorrow, _I_ should at least know your name; you know, in case I ever need to describe you to the authorities."

He laughed, but then his features softened yet again.

"I'm Edward, Bella."

This time, when he held my gaze, it seemed to hold some sort of…expectation.

"Okay," I said, and waving him off, I returned to my writing.

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

 **Facebook: Stories by PattyRose**

 **"See" you soon!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. Some belong to me. Mistakes are all mine.**

* * *

 **Break - Chapter 4**

A few mornings later, I was in the middle of a heated debate.

"Inconsiderate. Inconsiderate. Inconsiderate is synonymous with…Callous, with…Heartless. Heartless! Yes!" I whisper-yelled triumphantly. In the next moment, my shoulders fell. "No. No, those are good synonyms, but they're not what I'm looking for. Come on, Bella, think."

Sighing, I stared unseeingly through the coffee shop's sunlit windows while concurrently biting off the little bit of skin remaining beneath my thumbnail. My nailbeds were raw and sore from the morning's efforts. It was a disgusting habit; I was aware. I had a husband once, who constantly reminded me how gross a habit it was.

 _Bella, babe, I know it helps you focus when you're writing, but all I'm saying is not only is it aesthetically displeasing, having to watch you do it sort of turns my stomach._

 _Ex_ -husband's churning stomach notwithstanding, I rarely stopped when he complained because in conjunction with murmuring to myself under my breath while debating the best synonym, and with live-narrating the paragraphs I did set to screen, it all meant I _was_ in deep focus.

"Was that the beginning of the end? Biting my nailbeds?" I mused, but with a snort, I shook my head of those thoughts.

I had other thoughts – finally! – on which to focus. My writing muse hadn't completely abandoned me, along with everyone else, after all. Apparently, she'd just taken a long nap and re-awoke when…

Well, I wasn't really sure what woke her up, but that was beside the point. The point was it had been a while since I verbally sparred with myself on my writing, since I made my fingertips sore, and since those red-raw fingertips danced so swiftly over the keyboard it sounded like a galloping horse.

' _Bella, babe, do you think you can you type more quietly and slowly? And stop murmuring to yourself too. I know it all helps you focus when you're writing, but I'm trying to watch the game.'_

It had also been a while since my thoughts flowed so easily that my written sentences ran together. But when I was in this zone, I made no attempt to correct either my grammar nor my punctuation. Doing so would slow that horse's gallop. Only once I stopped murmuring and biting and debating would I go back and revise.

Right then, I was in a place where words strung together on a laptop became animated, where nothing existed beyond them, and where only a dead battery…or a flustered husband…could stop me.

' _Bella, I get you're trying to focus, but the Seahawks just lost the damn game!'_

"Selfish." I pulled my thumb away from my teeth, a grin spreading across my face. "Selfish. Yes! _Selfish_!"

Perfect synonym found, I eagerly returned my raw fingers to the keyboard. However, when I attempted to return my eyes to the screen, it proved a bit harder.

It was one of those early fall days where the sky was an uninterrupted blue. Golden leaves floated in the crisp, morning breeze. At the park across the street, toddlers toddled on their miniature legs, catching the billowing leaves and laughing heartily as they disintegrated them between their chubby fingers. But that wasn't what made it difficult to turn away.

A woman, about my age, sat on one of the benches. She held an infant on her lap – a blue-footed-onesie-wearing baby. The woman held one of the brittle, golden leaves in her hand, and as she waved it at the baby boy's eye level, he threw back his head, and even through the windows, the pure, unadulterated joy and wonder and awe in his tiny face was as clear as if…as if he sat on my lap.

And that…was the problem…with triggers. They totally fucked with my muse.

"Fuck."

"An interesting word, for sure, but I'd suggest you stick with 'Selfish.'"

Startled out of my misery, I whipped my head to my right.

"We _were_ looking for synonyms to 'Inconsiderate,' weren't we?"

When I blinked wordlessly at the erstwhile stranger, he grinned.

"Man, whatever it is you're writing, it deserves a Pulitzer for your focus alone."

Snapping out of my surprise – and surprised at that point may have been overstating it a bit – I reached out and snapped my laptop shut.

"'We' is too many people, and were you trying to read my stuff again?"

"No. I promise I wasn't," he said much more earnestly. "But seriously, Bella, do you realize how long I've been sitting here next to you without your notice?"

"Is this some sort of cry for help? Do you _want_ me to call the cops?"

Instead of any sort of apology or display of shame, the one-time stranger chuckled.

"I was drinking my coffee, and you were so deeply focused, I didn't want to interrupt." He paused, his grin softening. "Do you know you murmur to yourself when you write? You debate words. You're pretty loquacious, by the way. You grin. You frown. You talk about galloping horses? You bite your lip, your thumbnails. Honestly, it's…fascinating," he chuckled. "I could've sat here all morning."

In the next moment, the stranger cleared his throat and swiftly faced away from me, returning his full attention to his coffee. Gripping it in both hands, he studied the lid as if it held the map to a secret treasure. I started to turn away as well. Bella Hale would've definitely turned away because she was married. Bella Swan of a few months ago would've turned away as well because she was…pissed off.

"I actually bite the skin under my thumbs and not the nails themselves." I leaned closer to him and held my raw thumbs up between us.

The amused grin was back on his face even before he inspected my thumbs. "Ahh." He nodded slowly and met my eyes. "See? I couldn't have been observing you all that closely or else I'd know that."

I chuckled. "Pretty gross, huh?"

He shrugged, simultaneously shaking his head and making a face. When he reached out and brushed his thumbs lightly to mine, I held my breath. It was an innocent and light sort of touch, but it was the first time in…a long time since someone touched me that way – gently. Both his eyes and mine remained intently on our fingers while he softly examined me and took care not to touch my raw skin.

"Honestly?" he murmured. "I'd be more concerned with the health risks involved with your touching something dirty and getting those fingers infected."

When his eyes met mine, I said nothing, and a lopsided grin lifted one corner of his mouth.

"Because if they have to amputate your thumbs, how will you write?"

With a deep breath, I forced my eyes away from him, forced my entire frame to face forward.

"I'll be careful. Now leave me alone." I waved a hand. "You're interrupting me."

Instead of taking offense, he snorted.

"I did warn you that I was going to approach you the next time I found you typing away."

"That you did." Side-eyeing him, I quirked an eyebrow. "And I warned you that you'd do so at your own risk."

"That you did," he echoed.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him return to his coffee and pucker his lips around the lid's hole. Tilting his head, he held the cup to his mouth and pulled it away after each sip to grunt his appreciation. After three such reps, he set the cup down, its rim touching the rim of my coffee cup.

" _Ahh_ , that's good stuff."

I angled myself toward him. "You enjoy those frothy lattes, huh?"

The one-time stranger quirked an eyebrow. "You've noticed my coffee preference?"

Sitting back against my seat, I crossed my arms against my chest. "It's hard not to notice when…" I tapped the side of my mouth.

The stranger chuckled heartily and swiped his tongue over his top lip. Strangely enough, when he missed the spot, my hand twitched, but I kept it tightly against my chest.

"Nope. Still there."

He swiped the back of his large hand over his entire face so that when he pulled it away, his eyebrows were as skewed as his nose.

"Better?"

I laughed and laughed, harder than I'd laughed…in a while.

"Edward, you're such a damn clown."

An admittedly pleased grin spread across his admittedly handsome face.

"It's good to know you haven't forgotten my name, Bella. For a second there…" he cleared his throat. "So, now that we've ignored the dual warnings _and_ established that I have a fondness for steamed milk while you prefer to stick to bland light roast, no milk or cream, with a shot of hazelnut and no sugar – yes, _I_ have noticed – _and_ you don't seem to care if it gets cold, why don't we share a morning coffee break?"

"I thought we just did," I said, laughing yet again, or perhaps still as I flourished a hand toward my laptop. "And I'm in the middle of something. My muse is back, and she can be a flighty bitch, so…"

Edward leaned in closer, but only slightly – not so much where it was an invasion of my personal space, just enough so that when he spoke again, only I heard the softness in his tone.

"I only interrupted because you looked like something suddenly upset you."

I shut my eyes momentarily. "Thank you." I reopened them. "Sometimes I get lost in my own head, contemplating possibilities I really shouldn't contemplate."

"Don't we all?" He drew in a deep breath, and leaning back, he patted the counter space between us with his open palm. "All right, Bella. I sure as hell don't want to be the cause of your flighty muse's flight, so…I'll catch you next time?"

"At your own risk," I said, but I smiled, and the words no longer held quite the warning they were meant to hold.

"I'm aware," he grinned. "Take care, Bella. And don't let your coffee get cold."

"Take care, Stranger."

After he left, I sat there for hours, working without any interruptions from within…or without.

OOOOO

"How's the writing going, Bella?"

I laid comfortably across Dr. Rose's plush couch, my legs propped over pillows as I hugged the biggest one to my chest.

"Wonderfully. I mean," I chuckled, "it might be total shit I'm writing, you know? But the thoughts and words are flowing so freely and so quickly."

"That _is_ wonderful, Bella," Dr. Rose agreed, "even if it is shit. What matters now is how you feel as you're writing. I'd like to do something; I'd like you to give me three words, each which describe what you feel when you're writing lately."

"Three words? Let's see. Awake. Excited. Unpredictable."

"Those are great words."

"I've been told I'm pretty loquacious."

Dr. Rose chuckled. "So now, let's use your loquaciousness to find three words, each of which describes what you felt in those last months when you worked at _The High Line_."

I drew in a long breath and released it through narrowed lips.

"You know I don't like discussing _The High Line_."

"I know you don't enjoy revisiting that time period or anything involved with it, but sometimes, we have to-"

"I don't want any reminders of that time."

"Bella, how do instructors in university courses determine if students are paying attention?"

"Here we go," I moaned.

"Humor me."

"Fine," I snapped. "They give periodic exams based on the material covered."

"Correct. Now, if we're fortunate, most of the material, while perhaps not simple, is awakening, exciting, unpredictable, etc. Unfortunately, every once in a while, we're given material that's pretty shitty to review. Yet, as we know, there will be periodic exams, and chances are, even the shitty material we reviewed once and never want to lay eyes on again will be covered in at least one of those periodic exams. Therefore, every so often, we have to review that shitty portion of course material to make sure that when those periodic exams happen, we're ready."

"You know what's shitty? Your tricky metaphors."

Dr. Rose chuckled heartily, but when she spoke, her innate compassion returned.

"I understand why you needed to let go of so much of your previous life after the divorce. You gave up the apartment in Chelsea, most of your mutual friends, your gym membership, even your writing for a while. But you can't avoid that part of your life forever."

"Why not?"

"Bella," she sighed, "sooner or later-"

"I _don't_ want reminders," I repeated stubbornly. "We're in different parts of the city; I'll never have to see them again." I paused. "I told you that she… _Alice_ ," I spit through gritted teeth, "used to be my gym buddy, right? Four times a week; at first, without fail. But then, toward the end of everything, she began texting me excuses for why she couldn't meet me at the gym. Oh, she was exercising, all right; getting that blood pumping, meanwhile, I was at the gym…" I paused and shook my head. "I'm not ready for reminders."

"There's no such thing as being 'ready' for Life; which is why we continually prepare for it. And no one says you have to join a gym, honey. But physical health and mental health go hand in hand."

"Are you saying I'm out of shape, Doc?" I teased.

"Bella, your life for the past year or so has been quiet and unstimulating – which is good," she stressed. "You needed the downtime. Now, I think it's time to start getting back into the swing of things. The fact that your writing muse has returned is proof of that. Have you tried the yoga exercises I recommended?"

I shook my head tightly.

"Bella, I believe I've told you this, but if I could, I'd make at least a half hour of yoga in the morning mandatory for every person over age twelve. Not only is it great, physical exercise, but its meditation aspects actually decrease anxiety, stress, and depression. It's truly like a miracle drug meant to boost brainpower _and_ empower a person. A morning run is wonderful too. It's great cardio, burns calories, builds strength, and it increases one's level of neurotransmitters such as endorphins, which help us deal with stress and pain."

I swallowed hard. Dr. Rose had a way of making her case without making one feel as if they'd let her down – which I knew I had. There was a long pause while Dr. Rose waited for me to make the next move.

"That's all well and good, and I'll look into it, but I'm fine, Dr. Rose. Really. As long as I never have to deal with anything related to them again…take this morning, for example," I said.

"What happened this morning?"

"I was writing, and I saw a baby through the window. He was blond, and he was about…little Jasper's age," I swallowed painfully, "and he almost ruined me. Such a tiny being and he almost ruined me."

"We can't always escape those things which trigger us. What do we do in those cases, Bella?"

"When you're in the moment, it's not always easy to remember coping mechanisms, to close your eyes and breathe or to look up at the vast sky of possibilities or to distract yourself with a myriad of other little techniques like yoga." I sighed. "Anyway, I did find a distraction; or rather, a distraction found me."

"And what was that?" Dr. Rose asked.

"Remember that stranger I told you about a couple of sessions ago, the one I met in the coffee shop? Well, he'd apparently been sitting next to me – he's a runner, by the way – and he noticed the change in me when…I saw the little boy. So, we started talking."

Only the white noise machine in the corner kept the silence from being complete.

"Can we…call a time out? Because I feel as if I missed something. Please explain why this stranger, whom you've just stated was sitting next to you for a significant amount of time, watching you closely enough to notice a change in you, apparently isn't a concern?"

I chuckled. "Well, when you say it like that…but, I don't know." I shrugged, staring up at the soothingly soft white ceiling. "He distracts me."

"Is this stranger a…good-looking distraction?"

I twisted my head around and met Dr. Rose's gaze with a smirk.

"What?" she said. "Lesbians can appreciate the distraction of a good-looking man."

"Can they really? Because if that's the case-"

"Bella, you're not a lesbian."

"Damn it."

Dr. Rose chuckled. "You're avoiding the question, which actually, you answered in a roundabout way."

"Yes, yes." I rolled my eyes and laid back down. "I've tried my best not to see it, but he's a good-looking guy. Tall and lean and he's got all this hair on his head and on his face," I moved my hands around my head and my face in illustration, "and bright green eyes and a slightly crooked nose."

"You've just described a yeti."

"Dr. Rose, it's comments like that why I still keep these appointments."

"You keep these appointments because it's either me or jail."

I laughed hard. "No; no, he's no yeti. But…I don't think his looks are why he distracts me."

Dr. Rose asked her follow-up question calmly, with an even tone which, knowing her almost as well as she knew me, belied how anxious she really was not to spook me.

"Why do you think he distracts you?"

"I don't know. There's something easy about our conversations. While they're somewhat inane, there's an underlying vibe to them, as if he…I don't know," I repeated. "He probably distracts me because he knows nothing about my past. He's just a perfect stranger I can easily talk with."

"Makes sense," Dr. Rose agreed after a few seconds, "except you've used the word 'vibe' twice now, on two separate occasions, to describe him. And a 'vibe' by definition, involves much more than easy conversation."

"You pay way too much attention to me."

"Only because it's my job. Bella, for now, just make sure you keep those conversations to a public setting," she said, a smile in her voice. "Your good-looking yeti might be a great distraction, but he also sounds a bit…strange."

I snorted. "I'm not planning on taking him home any time soon, Doc. As I said, he's just a distraction."

"Okay," she said in one of those sing-song tones which I knew meant she was thinking more things she was letting on. "But also remember, Bella, that a distraction is exactly that – something which prevents you from turning over your full attention to something else. A distraction is a temporary, not a long-term solution. Mental _and_ Physical health – those are long term."

"I know."

I wasn't ready to go where she wanted; not yet, and I knew she was disappointed. Nevertheless, after a few moments, Dr. Rose shifted again. When she appeared in my periphery, holding out a wrapped package to me, I sat up.

"Enough of the brain-picking. Happy Birthday from Vera and me, and before you get too excited," she grinned, "it's a journal which we purchased for under the twenty dollar threshold required by law for doctor slash patient gifts."

I smiled as I unwrapped the package and read the words on the cover out loud:

" _The Best Time for New Beginnings is Now._ This…is actually perfect," I smiled.

"Bella, I don't think I've seen you smile, chuckle, and laugh so much in one day since I met you."

I met her gaze. "It's been, for the most part, a decent start to my thirty-second year."

"I'm glad, though you're definitely way too pleased by a nineteen dollar and ninety-nine cent journal." Dr. Rose placed her hands on her hips. "Have you celebrated your birthday at all today?"

"Other than receiving calls and texts from my parents and a small number of friends, no."

"You didn't tell your stranger – what's his name by the way – that it's your birthday?"

"He's not _my_ stranger, and his name is Edward, and no, I didn't. Though…I might hang out in the coffee shop for a bit this afternoon since it seems to fuel my mojo. Maybe if I see him, I'll let it slip."

With a wink and a shrug, I walked toward the door, Dr. Rose's laughter following me all the way.

OOOOO

I did, in fact, spend an hour or so that afternoon back at the coffee shop – strictly for caffeine and big-windows-facing-out-on-a-pretty-park purposes. Either way, the stranger… _Edward_ didn't show up. Perhaps he was only a morning coffee type of person, which was fine. I used the time productively, wrote some more, used my new journal to jot down notes, compare synonyms or just plain doodle while I thought out my ideas. Once I began doodling more than writing, I shut the laptop and left.

With the sun setting, the crisp, September air nipped at my cheeks and fingers. The numbness it caused felt good on my sore thumbnail beds. As I stepped into my building's vestibule and walked toward the elevator, I decided my thirty-second birthday hadn't gone too badly at all. I was returning to a great apartment, even if it was a temporary set-up. Not only did it give me a place to crash until I decided what to do with the rest of my life, the Clearwaters provided a stipend which was enough for groceries and expenses. I didn't need much more. Then…there was-

I'm not sure what the next thought in my head would've been. Getting lost in my thoughts was yet another habit that tended to get me into trouble. I wasn't prepared for the sight before me, for the man leaning against the wall opposite the elevator. And all in all, getting caught unprepared was my own fault. Dr. Rose warned me that Life doesn't wait until we're ready, and so we must always be preparing.

I hadn't prepared.

When he saw me, he pushed himself off the wall and dug his hands in his pockets.

"Happy Birthday, Bella."

Silence.

"I wanted-"

"Jasper," I breathed, "what are you doing here?"

"I just…"

He pulled a hand out of his pocket and gripped the nape of his neck. It was an action I recognized. I was a thumb-skin biter, he was a nape gripper. And even as that senseless thought ran through my head, even as he stood there with his pink lips slightly agape, with his chest heaving as if he had a right to be nervous, I studied him.

He looked…good. He looked the same as he'd looked the last time I saw him, right before the divorce was final. He looked the same as he'd looked when we were married, and when I thought-

"I was in the area, and I wanted to say happy birthday."

The building vestibule was empty. The din of afternoon traffic trickled in through the glass doors. Muffled voices filtered from one of the apartments above.

"Why are you here?" I repeated.

"I told you; I wanted to say happy birthday. Since we were what, ten-years-old, you and I haven't spent a birthday where we didn't at least see one another." He grinned sheepishly, and if I didn't know better…

" _Why_ are you here?"

"Jesus, Bella, why can't you leave the hostility behind?"

"Are you fucking-"

"Calm down. That's not what I meant." He sighed. Another nape grip. "We were friends once, Bella, remember? Before we started dating."

I shook my head slowly, long languid shakes from side to side.

"I can't do this. I'm not ready. You need to go."

"You were never the bitter type, Bella."

"You made me bitter!"

"Lower your voice."

"Jasper, please leave," I said through clenched teeth. "I'm not ready."

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, giving me a wide berth as he side-stepped me, gripping the nape of his neck again. "Bella, I need you to look through your boxes. I can't find my Seahawks jersey, the one you used to wear to bed."

"And? What, you think _I_ have it?"

"I remember how much you used to love it, Bella. So please, if you have it…"

It would be that word, _please,_ combined with the fact that he lied to me - again; he wasn't there to wish me a happy birthday, which would keep me awake that night.

"Even if I did have it, do you think I'd give it back to you rather than burn it?"

" _Did_ you burn it?"

I pressed my lips together. For one, long moment, as we scrutinized one another, I considered how blue his eyes were – like the ocean on that Caribbean island we visited on our honeymoon. Eyes, which I once considered open and honest, now struck me as murky and deceitful.

"It's not for me, Bella," Jasper said slowly. "It's for…my son. I'd like him to have it when he gets a bit bigger. He doesn't need to pay for _our_ issues. Look for it, please. And enjoy the rest of your birthday."

And with those…well-wishes, Jasper turned and walked out of my building.

OOOOO

The next morning in the coffee shop, I stared out of the window at the falling rain. Huge drops of moisture pelted the glass frame, providing the galloping sound my fingers failed to provide. My laptop lay closed and dormant on the counter.

"Is the muse being flighty today?"

I didn't need to look to my right to know who sat there.

"Leave me alone, please."

Silence.

"What's wrong, Bella?"

"What makes you think something's wrong? Maybe I'm just tired of your stupid, inane conversation."

Another pause.

"You're not writing, and you've been writing nonstop for days now."

I sighed and slowly turned my head toward the stranger. His brow was furrowed as if he were concerned, yet a soft smile played across his mouth.

"Look, can you stop watching me? It's fucking…strange, Stranger."

He swallowed.

"Do you miss him?"

Startled, my head jerked back, and my eyes grew wide.

"How did you know I was once-?"

"You keep playing with your ring finger." With that angular jaw, he gestured toward my left hand. "Except, there's no ring on it."

I dropped my eyes to my left hand. Since the early days of my marriage, I'd had a tendency to fold my thumb under my pointer and middle fingers, reaching for my wedding ring and brushing it back and forth. Despite my divorce, the quirk remained, except now I brushed the empty spot where my ring once rested.

Eyes downcast, I smiled ruefully. "I have quirky fingers, don't I? I guess…old habits die hard."

"So, do you?"

"Do I what?" I'd forgotten the question.

"Do you miss him?"

I lifted my eyes again, and for a moment, I bristled.

"Why in the world would I tell you? You're a perfect stranger."

"Maybe that's why. Who better than a perfect stranger to share your thoughts with?" In the next moment, he fisted his damp hair and shook his head. "Actually, Bella, don't ans-"

"Those first few months, I missed him so much…so much I'd curl up into a ball at night," I whispered, "and I'd try to make myself as tiny as possible to see if that would constrict the pain that radiated into my every extremity. But then, I couldn't breathe. So, I'd remember all the things he said and those things he didn't say the last time we…spoke, and I'd stretch out my body as far and wide as I could in an effort to release the anger welling inside me. None of it helped me breathe, though."

For a few seconds, the stranger…Edward said nothing, but perhaps it was because his jaw seemed locked too tightly to form words, the angular bones almost protruding. His gaze darkened, fierce and turbulent like the morning's storm brewing outside the windows. His slightly crooked nostrils flared. When he finally spoke, it was barely more than a subtle movement of his mouth.

"And now?"

I drew in a deep breath, releasing it slowly.

"Now…I miss the idea."

"The idea of him?"

"Yes. No." I shook my head and swept my eyes to the gray window, taken aback by my own, sudden realization. "No. No, that's not right either. I miss…the security that came with thinking he'd make me happy. I miss the sense of safety that resulted from believing Life would be that easy; you know, that I'd just place my happiness in someone else's hands and...poof," I snapped my fingers, "magic."

Again, I looked at Edward. "You probably think I'm some sort of lunatic, don't you? And if Dr. Rose heard me use that type of language to describe myself, she'd choke me."

I chuckled somewhat self-consciously, abruptly aware of just how much I'd shared with a perfect stranger. All the while, Edward's expression remained stoic.

"I don't think you're a lunatic – not at _all_ ," he emphasized. "In fact, I think it all sounds a whole lot like those windows you always talk about. There's no real substance to them, yet sometimes, they offer us a deceiving sense of safety while all along, they're stifling us. So, we've got to throw open those windows just to breathe. Maybe…maybe that's what your marriage was like."

"Deceivingly safe and stifling. Maybe," I murmured after a while. Then, I snorted and tilted my head. "Edward, how do you understand what I'm saying when I barely understand it myself; when we hardly know one another?"

For one, long moment, Edward kept his eyes locked on mine. His Adam's apple bobbed. He rubbed his palm hard across the cleft of his stubbly jaw. Yet, he kept right on staring at me.

"Bella, I should probably tell you…I should probably…I should go and let you get back to your writing. You should get back to your writing."

My brow furrowed, somewhat thrown by his sudden and urgent desire to allow me to return to my writing – especially when my laptop sat closed between us. Nevertheless, I blinked and nodded.

"All right. All right; I guess you should…go so I can return to my writing."

He gave the counter space between us two hard and hasty pats with his open palm.

"Take care, Bella."

"Take care, Stranger."

For a few seconds, after he stood and disappeared behind me, my gaze remained on his vacated seat. Then, with a sigh, I pulled my Mac in front of me.

"Hey, Bella?"

My head snapped around so I could take Edward in over my shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"For what it's worth, I think you're better off without him. You're better off without anyone who can't see what a…fascinating treasure you are."

My breath returned after a few stuttering heartbeats.

"Thank you, _Edward_. I'm beginning to think so too. Will you be here tomorrow morning? You know, to watch me write?" I offered him a smile.

He swallowed and smiled in return. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Good. I'll see you then."

And with a deep breath, I opened my laptop.

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **Facebook: Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

" **See" you soon. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. The storyline is mine. So are all mistakes.**

* * *

 **Break – Chapter 5**

The Face Time call came in just as I was prepping for bed and brushing my teeth in the ensuite bathroom attached to the guest bedroom in which I slept. So, as I accepted the call with a mouthful of toothpaste, I pushed the phone away to the other end of the long, black marble sink. Unfortunately, the absence of my face onscreen caused a mild panic.

"Hello?"

"Bella?"

"Hey, Dad."

"Bella? Bella, where are you? I can't see you."

"Hold on, I'm brushing my teeth," I said, my words garbled by the mouthful of toothpaste.

"What? Bella, are you okay? Bella? Bella!"

"Ugh, hold on, Dad!"

Spitting out the toothpaste, I quickly rinsed-

"Bella!"

-and hastily wiped my mouth on the thick and plush guest towels. Then, chuckling, I picked up the phone.

"Dad, calm down. I'm right here."

On the small, phone screen, I watched my dad sit back against his Barcalounger and place a palm over his heart. His shoulders visibly slackened.

"There you are. I got scared when I didn't see you."

"Don't worry, Dad. I've yet to break down while brushing my teeth." I offered him a thumb's up.

My dad wasn't amused. "Bella, that's not funny."

"Sorry." Chastised for my misplaced joke, I padded into the Clearwaters' large, comfortable living room and plopped onto their suede leather sectional, pouting and curling my legs under me while holding a pillow to my chest; just like a teenager, mid-scolding.

Dad shook his head. "What can I say? I do worry."

"So I see." I kept my eyes on the flat screen above the mantle, pointing the remote at the TV while trying not to bristle. The truth was, I'd given him plenty of reason to worry over the past year or so.

"How about if I promise you'll never again have to spend six months in New York babysitting your thirty-one-now-thirty-two-year-old daughter?"

My father snorted and agreed way too easily for me not to feel somewhat patronized.

"I know I won't, honey. It's the thought of you alone in that city, so far away from home…"

Setting down the remote, I sighed and looked back at the phone.

"Charlie, do you know how many women in the world live by themselves? And get this: rumor is they'll soon be allowed to vote," I pretend-whispered.

"Smart-ass," he grumbled, making me chuckle. "I know, Bella. I know. But look at all those women who they're constantly finding around there, assaulted or even worse…dead."

I rolled my eyes. "Dad, they're not _constantly_ finding women assaulted or dead around here. Man, you'd make a horrible spokesperson for the New York City Tourism Board."

"Luckily, extolling the virtues of New York isn't my job. However, being your father is, and it's a job- a _responsibility_ I take seriously." Before I could lash out, Dad's tone softened. "Kiddo, I just want to make sure you're taking care of yourself."

Over the past year, I'd realized that Dad and I resembled one another in more than our dark hair and dark eyes. We both knew it wasn't muggers or murderers running rampant in New York which worried him. He didn't know, however, that I'd just passed my first post-divorce survival test; admittedly by the skin of my teeth, but I was neither back in a mental institution nor curled into a ball, nor had I committed murder. As Dr. Rose would say, "A total win!"

It didn't completely feel like one.

"I _am_ taking care of myself, Dad; I promise."

"Are you keeping your appointments with the therapist?"

"Of course, Dad," I sighed.

"Do you have enough money?"

"Yes, Dad," I groaned. "The Clearwaters' provided a generous stipend for the care and upkeep of their beautiful apartment. And if I didn't have enough money, there are these cool things called jobs."

" _Jobs_?" Dad echoed as if I'd uttered a curse word. "I thought we decided you weren't going to lay down any more roots down there so that there are no loose ends to tie once you complete your therapy requirements?"

Here, I did bristle. "Dad, ' _we'_ is too many people. Why does everyone suddenly include themselves in my decisions?"

His head jerked back. "What? Who else-"

"The point is, Dad, _I_ haven't decided anything yet."

Exhaling heavily, my dad stopped mincing words. "I don't think you should stay in New York, Bells. There's no longer any reason for you to be there or to be anywhere within a thousand-mile radius of that faithless bastard and his home-wrecking-"

I cut his tirade off sharply. "Dad."

A long pause ensued.

"I saw your ex-mother-in-law in the market this morning."

"Oh? How is Maggie?" I asked stiffly.

His tone grew rougher, increasingly resentful. "Can you believe she had the audacity to ask me to pass on to you her belated wishes for a happy birthday, after what her son did to you?"

"Dad…" I breathed, raking my free hand through my hair, "what he did isn't his parents' fault."

Dad sort of disagreed. "The hell it isn't. Maggie and John were always way too lenient with that boy. They should've raised him better; should've raised him to be a real man instead of a rotten, cheatin'-"

"Dad," I hissed through gritted teeth. He stopped, but as eyes identical to mine held my gaze, the questions which had whirred around in my head for a few months now burned an ever-widening hole on the tip of my tongue.

I was five when my parents divorced. Having been so young, I can't nail down specifics or exact timelines, but I have hazy memories of a conversation which took place sometime beforehand. It was late enough at night where I was in bed, and so for a long time – for most of my life – I relegated the voices I awoke to that night to a vaguely recollected dream.

" _Don't do this, Renee. I'm begging you. We can work this out."_

" _Charlie, please let's not make this ugly. We can be adults about this, can't we? For Bella's sake, I'd like us to remain friends – good friends. Can you do that, Charlie? For her sake, can we_ _ **all**_ _be friends?"_

I don't know what Dad answered; his reply was murmured too low for me to hear, and like I said, for decades afterward, I consigned the entire discussion to a dream…or I forced myself to believe it a dream.

For the first few months after their divorce, I lived with Mom. Being so young, I didn't find it strange that she and I were the ones who moved out of our house, although we remained in Forks and rented an apartment nearby. I remained in the same school, kept the same friends, lived in the same neighborhood, and I saw my Dad almost every day because their divorce was _friendly_.

Again, I only vaguely recall that the man who soon became my stepdad stepped into the picture rather quickly. I can't pin down a specific timeline, but when I think back to my time in that apartment, it seems Phillip Dwyer, Forks High School's basketball coach, was _always_ there; when I awoke in the mornings and when I went to bed in the evenings.

When Mom married Phil less than a year after the divorce, it was a family affair because it was a _friendly_ divorce. Dad attended the wedding and smiled through the entire event. He shared beers with Phil. Mom glowed like a blushing, new bride. Everyone agreed I was the sweetest, most well-behaved flower girl ever.

Soon after Mom and Phil married, Mom moved into Phil's house, and I moved back in with Dad; though I still spent plenty of time with Mom. But, five years old at the time, I thought nothing of it.

Lately, I'd been thinking a lot about it.

"Dad…why did you go along so easily with…"

"So easily with what, Bella?" Dad prompted after a hesitation which lasted way too long. At that point, I swallowed back my questions and asked something entirely different.

"Dad, do you remember when I was in the hospital last year? You packed up my things and put a lot of it into storage, so we could stay here with the Clearwaters."

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I remember, honey."

"Do you remember…was there a Seahawks jersey among the things you packed?"

"Hmm," he pondered. "There may have been; I can't say I remember. Why?"

"I used to sleep in it when I was…" I drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. "It was Jasper's. He stopped by yesterday, asking for it. He said he wants it for his son, for when he's older."

For a few, long moments, my dad said nothing, but his expression darkened exponentially with every passing second. Finally, just as I feared he might suffer apoplexy, he leaned forward, his flaring nostrils looming larger and larger on the phone screen.

"That motherfucker. That fucking, rotten…nervy motherfucker."

"Jesus, Dad," I choked. "You know, this might be where some people get the impression that we Swans are temperamental."

"You know I'm usually not a violent man, Bella-"

"I know," I murmured. "You're usually an extremely…laid back man."

"I'm a realtor for God's sakes, but after what that… _asshole_ did to you, the hell you went through because of him, he had the nerve, the utter gall to go to the Clearwaters' apartment and ask you for a _jersey_? How the hell does he even…? Damn it," he spat after a few moments, the pronounced lines across his forehead deepening as he squeezed his eyes shut. When he reopened them, they swam in self-reproach. "I forget we all grew up together: the Swans, the Clearwaters, the Hales, the Dwyers."

"See?" I pointed out, raising my eyebrows. "New Yorkers may have to deal with the perils of muggers and murderers, but in a small town, it's those wagging tongues one has to be wary of. _Everyone_ knows everyone," I smirked. "At least here in New York, you can actually meet a perfectly unknown stranger without having to play six degrees of separation."

At the mention of a 'stranger,' a pair of green eyes invaded my mind, but I blinked them away and refocused on my dad's useless remorse.

"Damn it, Bells," Dad reiterated. "Sometimes, I forget just how small this town is."

"It doesn't matter, Dad," I said, shaking my head.

"Of course it matters, Bella. After what he did to you, not only with the cheating but everything afterward, he's got the nerve to show up where _you're_ living?"

"Like I said, he wanted the jersey for his offspring."

"He's so lucky I wasn't-" My dad cut himself off mid-hiss. "Wait a minute, he wanted what?"

"His Seahawks jersey."

"The one you just said you used to sleep in?"

"Yeah."

Silence.

"Bella," the pronounced frown grew all the more severe, "what kind of sicko asks his ex-wife for the shirt she used to sleep in so that his son, with another woman, can wear it when he gets older?"

"I don't know, Dad," I shrugged. "Someone who wants a _friendly_ divorce?"

If some irrepressible sarcasm seeped into the question, Dad was too distracted to notice.

"And wait a minute, yesterday was your birthday," he recalled. "Why the hell did he show up on your birthday to ask for his jersey?"

"It was as good a day as any, I suppose."

"And his homewrecker of a girlfriend is okay with that; with their kid receiving-?"

"I don't know," I spat as my patience wore thin. "Whatever. I don't care. It's not something I want to examine closely. _I_ don't want to consider anything marginally related to my ex-spouse and his new partner. _I_ don't want a friendly divorce; I don't want reminders hanging around, which is why, if that jersey is mixed in somewhere with my possessions, I want to find it."

"And do what with it, Bella?" Dad asked.

"I don't know that either, Dad. Look," I fisted my hair, "can we just change the subject?"

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry, Bells, for…well, I'm just sorry for the way things went down."

"It's not your fault, Dad."

He held my gaze, and why couldn't we just say what we were thinking?

"You're right; if that jersey is mixed in with your possessions, it's best you find it and get rid of it one way or another. You need a new beginning, kiddo, a fresh start from scratch with no remnants of that life."

"Yeah," I said quietly.

"Honey, if you came home, that would be the best way to start over. There are all sorts of possibilities just waiting for you all over the county. You can be my office administrator, or you can get your realtor license and join your old man. And if you don't want to work with me, I spoke to Tyler Crowley over at the Peninsula Daily News? Do you remember him? You went to high school with him."

"Yeah, Dad. I remember Tyler."

"Well, he's the editor there now, _and_ he told me to let you know he'd be thrilled to look at your work if you wanted to write for the paper. Sounded really excited about it, Bella. They've got a website now too, you know, where they post all their news and articles? You know how to work those, right?"

"Yeah, Dad. I know how they work."

"Actually, Tyler's also divorced. He married that girl from Port Angeles, Lauren Something-or-other? It didn't work out, but he's a good kid. He bought a nice house from me after his divorce. Always respectful when he sees me, and as I said, he sounded really excited-"

"Dad," I smiled wistfully into the phone, "I appreciate everything you've looked into; I really do. But please don't get your hopes up too high. I haven't decided anything yet, one way or the other."

"But Bells," my dad said carefully, "what is there keeping you tied to New York? Trust me when I say that constant reminders of your previous life…" he shook his head and swallowed, "they're not easy to deal with, Bella."

"Unless they're a sweet-natured little girl who can do no wrong, right? A baby makes it _all_ worth it."

My dad's breath left him in a long gust. "Bells…

Yes. We were similar in more ways than I ever imagined.

"It's all right, Dad. Not everyone is meant to be a parent, and perhaps," I whispered, "when you live with those other constant reminders on your terms rather than on someone else's, they're easier to deal with."

He silently held my gaze. "Perhaps. So does that mean you've made a decision about coming home or not?"

I drew in a deep breath, and my gaze roamed away from the small phone screen. The apartment's large living-room windows looked out on the dark, sparkling Hudson and Jersey City's ever-expanding skyline on the other side. Strangely enough, for a fraction of a second, that ever more familiar pair of green eyes and slightly crooked nose flashed across my mind again, blocking my view.

"No. There are pros and cons to both, aren't there? We'll see what happens in the next five months."

OOOOO

The following morning, as was becoming the usual, I wasn't aware of Edward's presence until he deliberately sought my attention, this time by sliding a porcelain cup of coffee and saucer across the counterspace between us.

Or perhaps, I was lying to myself.

As I turned and watched his retreating backside move swiftly as he headed back to the order pick-up station, I wondered if, on some level, I'd been aware of his presence since the moment he walked into the coffee shop earlier that morning. Perhaps I was simply growing comfortable with his habit of watching me, and I no longer reacted…much to it.

When he turned around with another cup and saucer in hand, he caught me watching him, and he grinned so broadly and knowingly I had to turn away as he approached to hide my flaming face. Edward slid into the seat beside me and set down his cup and saucer, angling himself toward me.

"Wow, actual cups and saucers," I said quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed _exactly_ where my eyes had been. Now, I kept them safely on the coffee cups between us. "Thank you, but I already have coffee." I gestured toward my left and my untouched, disposable cup.

"I know, but I'd bet money you've let it go cold, which is unacceptable because hot coffee should _never_ be consumed cold."

Lifting my eyes to him, I quirked an eyebrow. "Says who?"

"Says the very definition of _hot coffee_ ," he stressed, making me laugh again. "Besides, I figured if we're going to be here for a while, we might as well save the environment and have our coffee served in real cups."

I sighed. "I suppose it's the environmentally-friendly thing to do."

"What's more-"

"There's more?" I snorted.

He offered me a mischievous grin. "Oh, there's plenty more. _What's more_ …" he repeated, picking up a small, steel milk jug between us, "I've got something super cool to show you, so pay attention."

I crossed my arms against my chest as Edward proceeded to pick up his coffee cup, which looked like it held nothing more than a quarter cup of coffee, the cup less than halfway full. He held the cup carefully at an angle while holding the jug higher.

"Here we go. Watch closely."

Drawing in a dramatically deep breath, Edward lifted the jug to about his green-eyed level, then slowly began pouring steamed milk into the angled coffee cup, which was at his flat-stomach level. When the cup was about half full, he moved the jug lower, close to the cup. All the while, he poured the steamed milk evenly and steadily, his furrowed brows so intently focused a line appeared between them. When the cup was nearly three-quarters full, he began moving the jug from side to side and backward, only moving his wrist. The foam which appeared on the coffee's surface formed a white pattern. When he reached the end of the cup, he moved the jug in a straight line right through the pattern.

"Ta-da." He chuckled quietly and raised his eyes to me.

I kept mine on his cup and on the olive-branch design he'd created in foam. Oh, I was impressed; pretty ridiculously so, I might add. After all, the pattern was rather shaky and somewhat misshapen, with some of the leaves disproportionately sized in comparison to others. It was clearly the work of a novice.

Nonetheless, despite all my issues, I wasn't so dense that I failed to recognize my growing attraction for the no-longer-quite-so-much-a-stranger stranger. Nor did I fail to recognize the heat of gratification I felt for the fact that Edward had performed this little feat for _me_ , to impress _me_. So, as I stared at the leaf design, what _I_ saw wasn't so much a sweet, little branch with cute, misshapen leaves nor even the artistry behind it; no.

What _I_ saw was a big, bright red, STOP sign.

And, as in my periphery, I saw Edward's eyes still on me, his brow slightly furrowed, bits and pieces from a previous session between Dr. Rose and me crept into my mind:

"… _a Stop sign is a warning," I said firmly._

 _"It's a sign, letting you know you have to stop and look both ways. It doesn't necessarily mean what's up ahead is bad… My point is Bella; there is more than green and red, more than bad and good, more than asshole and idiot. You once knew this, Bella, and you'll know it again…"_

In my periphery, I could tell Edward's face was somewhat flushed. Still not ready to meet his eyes, I passed them over in favor of his hair. It was an interestingly dark shade of copper, but it tended to stick up in places and clump in others. His wicking tee shirt usually clung to his chest – because it was sweaty. He was a runner, and if I inhaled deeply, I caught a whiff of that sweat…but it had an after-scent of soap. He was…extremely good-looking, but he had that nose that tilted somewhat to one side. He was a stranger who wasn't so much a stranger anymore.

So much about Edward was somewhere in between.

"It's kind of crooked, I know," Edward admitted sheepishly at my prolonged silence. For two seconds, I panicked, thinking I'd verbalized my thoughts about him aloud. "But I'm admittedly a novice at latte art," he continued with a chuckle that sounded somewhat self-conscious, "and I was told whole milk would've worked better, but I…"

I drew in a breath and met his gaze.

Someone once said that a person's eyes are windows to their souls. For a few seconds, while Edward and I locked gazes, I wondered what exactly that meant when a person's irises…Edward's irises were as translucent as a tropical sea, yet his pupils were as opaque as the night sky.

Everything was somewhere in between.

"Tell me what you do, Stranger," – a series of successive breaths escaped me – "that leaves you with time for daily morning runs followed by people watching in coffee shops, and interspersed with learning novice latte-design tricks?"

He chuckled and sat back, and I may have imagined the series of successive breaths which quietly escaped him as well as he comfortably rested a long, well-shaped leg over the other. He picked up his coffee.

"Well, when you spend half of your life and a pretty decent sum of money on medical school, daily runs followed by long coffee breaks where you talk to fascinating people and show them your novice latte art skills are the least Life can do to make it up to you." He leaned toward me while I laughed so that only the coffee cup he held separated us. "And by the way, my name is _Edward,_ not Stranger," he murmured.

I stopped laughing, and when he pulled back and took a sip of his coffee, I smiled.

"I know. Though, I suppose I'll have to call you _Doctor_ now, huh?" I teased. "But I'm still confused, Doctor. Don't doctors have patients to see, or are you one of the reasons why malpractice suits are so prevalent nowadays?"

He lowered his coffee, and yes, there was some froth in the corner of his mouth as he smirked at me.

"I'm a medical epidemiologist, Bella. I don't see patients; at least, not in a private office type setting."

My mouth fell slightly open. But then I recovered and raised both eyebrows high. "How stupid will I sound when I admit I'm not sure what that even means?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "You won't sound stupid at all. It's a mouthful which simply means I work for the CDC examining patterns of disease."

Wow," I nodded. "What type of research do you do?"

He grinned. "Well, are you sure you want me to get into that? I've been told on more than one occasion that I can get so lost in the details I bore my listeners to death and completely eliminate the need for diseases. And I'm sorry," he chuckled, "that was a pretty tasteless joke."

"I found it funny," I shrugged. Then, much like him, I sat back comfortably and flourished a hand in invitation. "But please, get lost in the details. I promise I'll try not to die of boredom."

He snorted. "Alright. But remember you asked for it." He jerked his angular jaw toward my still-untouched coffee. "And drink that while it's still nice and warm."

So, as we sipped our coffees, Edward explained his career to me. True to his word, he got into it all right. He traveled all over the world and for months and years at a time, depending on what disease he was studying, analyzing, tracking, etc. Most recently and for the past few years, he worked in conjunction with various other agencies such as the World Health Organization, in China. Unfortunately, China experienced yearly Avian Flu Epidemics, and Edward and others worked on preventing the epidemics from becoming full-blown pandemics.

"It's frustrating," he said, "because the goal should be to develop a vaccine against all strains, but…" He stopped and offered me an embarrassed smile. "I've done it, haven't I? Your eyes are glazed."

"Not at all," I said. "I admit, you lost me a bit when you got into specific strains, but…wow, Edward. That's all amazing, and pretty fucking frightening in places," I said, and he barked a laugh, "Also, you travel a hell of a lot."

"I do," he said quietly. "Right now, I'm on a short break while I wait to hear whether I'll be headed to China again this year or somewhere else, depending on priorities; could be California, could be Madagascar. Who knows?"

"I've got to admit, as amazing as your job sounds, it's all the traveling you do which fascinates me the most."

He laughed. "It gets a bit exhausting, believe it or not."

"I've always wanted to travel," I breathed.

"Why haven't you?"

I shrugged. "I was involved in other things, I suppose; other endeavors and priorities, which didn't pan out." I swallowed. "And anyway," I sighed, "my…ex-husband wasn't much for traveling. He always complained everything was too far away."

Edward's upper lip twisted into a scowl. "Forgive me, but your ex-husband sounds like an uncultured and undereducated idiot."

I'd been sipping on my last bit of coffee, and I choked. Edward firmly yet carefully patted my back, and even through the blouse and knit sweater I wore on that crisp, fall morning, his touch burned me in a way I hadn't burned in a long, long time.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated over and over. When I finally stopped choking on my own saliva, he dropped his hand. Our eyes met and held.

The strangest thing was that in spite of the fact that he'd referenced Jasper, someone I usually avoided discussing at all costs, I found myself chuckling instead of biting Edward's head off.

"He was…is and idiot. And he's even more geographically-challenged than I am," I said, referencing a previous discussion Edward and I had regarding international locations.

"Clearly," Edward snorted. "You said you're from Washington State, right?" he asked, apparently recalling the conversation as well. "That's a six-hour or so direct flight from here."

"Yeah," I nodded.

"You know, it takes about the same time to fly to London direct from here."

"No way. I thought it was more."

"Obviously." He rolled his eyes. "With your geographical prowess, you probably thought London was near Japan." He leaned in. "By the way, Japan is on the other side of the planet.

I surprised us both when I reached out and shoved his arm – kind of hurting my red-raw fingers in the process when I hit unyielding muscle. But that was beside the point.

"Shut up, Edward. I know very well where London is."

"Do you? And where is it?"

"In England."

"And where exactly is England?"

"In Europe."

"In what part of Europe?"

At my ensuing silence, he laughed so hard he had to wrap his large hands around his narrow waist to hold in his chortles.

"Laugh all you want. Someday, I'll go, and I'll be able to answer any question you throw at me regarding England's geography."

His amusement died away, and he watched me through bright, sparkling eyes.

"That actually sounds like a great plan," he said, his voice thick and warm. "But get ready because when that happens, I plan to test you." He waved a warning finger at me.

"Do you have family, Edward?"

Apparently, now it was Edward's turn to choke on his coffee. I patted his still-somewhat-damp-from-a-run back, discreetly wiping my hand on my jeans when he recovered. No, his sweat didn't reek, but it was sweat.

He had to clear his throat a few times before he could speak.

"Yeah. Yes, Bella. I have family."

Silence.

"Well?" I snorted when he failed to expand. By then, my nostrils flared with sneaking suspicions. "What is it, a wife? A husband? Kids? A partner with no clue that you sit and take note of the coffee preferences of perfect strangers?"

"No, Bella." He frowned darkly and shook his head, his own crooked nostrils momentarily flaring. "Of course, not. I've never been married. No wife, no husband, no kids, no girlfriend or boyfriend or life partner of any sort."

For a few moments, we silently scrutinized one another.

"I'm sorry," I finally whispered. "I didn't mean to imply…" I snorted. "I think it's pretty obvious I have some…issues."

"Jesus, Bella, please don't apologize to me," he said. "Yes, I have a family. Parents, grandparents, cousins, a sister, aunts, and uncles. Some of them live here, some of them live elsewhere, but we're not particularly close. I suppose I travel too much, and besides.." He shrugged and left it there. "Anyway, enough about me. Tell me about you."

I inhaled deeply and exhaled through narrowed lips. "My current narrative may not be as interesting as yours."

He quirked a brow and jerked his jaw toward my laptop, largely ignored for the past half hour.

"There's no way that's true. Trust me, I've watched you go at that closely enough to know there's no way that's true." He crossed his lean arms against his lean chest. "But go ahead, I'll give you a chance to prove me wrong. I'll even start things off for you. You're a writer. Go."

I chuckled. At some point, the chuckle turned cynical, and then it just went downhill from there.

"Maybe I once was, though I'm not so sure about that anymore. I wrote nonsense for a small, relatively unknown publication here in the city, yet I allowed it to validate me more than it should've. My parents are divorced, and they pretend it was the friendliest divorce in the history of divorces, but in reality, my mother broke my father's heart. I think, on some level, I knew that all my life, and I resented both of them for it, so that when I was faced with my own divorce-"

I stopped.

"I'm sorry." I shook my head vehemently, turning away from him and toward the September windows, which the early fall sun no longer warmed as well as it did just a couple of weeks earlier. Shivering, I wrapped my sweater tighter around me, my hands on my forearms. "I'm sorry."

For a few, long moments, I sat there silently, waiting for Edward to stand and leave. He'd finished his coffee after all, and so had I. Yet, all of a sudden, I was engulfed in pure warmth, warmed by the sun's faint rays…and by the hand which abruptly and gently covered mine, squeezed, caressed with his thumb.

"Don't be sorry." When I turned and met his gaze, Edward swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. "Bella, I…"

"So, what happened to your nose?"

He pulled his hand away and looked at me through wide, startled eyes.

"Sorry," I smiled sheepishly now. "I didn't mean to point it out if it's a sore point. Get it? _Sore_ point," I said, trying to dispel the awkwardness.

He chuckled at my shitty pun and raked a hand through his hair, his gaze shifting sideways toward the window. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"A sore point? I guess you can call it that. Fucking fractured noses bleed a lot, and you need both hands…" Scowling at the window, he shook his head and sighed. "There was a fight, and I had a run-in with an errant elbow."

I hissed through my teeth. "Sounds painful."

"It was…a strong elbow. Made me see stars," he murmured, yet the scowl was abruptly replaced by a strange grin, both the grin and his tone reflecting something akin to respect…even admiration. With a shrug, he met my eyes again. "The fracture healed rather quickly, though the nose is a bit skewed now, huh?"

"It's not too bad. It's probably only noticeable to those people who observe others way too closely."

He snorted and lifted an eyebrow. "If I'm not mistaken, Bella, we're discussing an observation _you_ made about _me_?"

I chuckled heartily. "Fine, fine. Anyway, it suits you."

"A crooked nose suits me?"

"It gives your face rugged character. Plus, you can go around telling the most outrageous stories about how you got it – a pub crawl that went one bar too far, a game of rugby you kept from turning more vicious than usual, a bodega robbery you foiled single-handedly. The possibilities are almost endless."

"And this…is one of the reasons why…I find you utterly fascinating."

Something like a breath but not quite a breath escaped me.

"But Bella, you've turned me into the hero in all of those versions."

"If you're the one retelling the story, why not turn yourself into the hero?"

Swallowing, he turned toward the windows again. "It _is_ a funny thing about windows, isn't it? You're right about them." He exhaled, and when he spoke again, his words were so quiet I strained to hear them.

"Because, Bella…I don't think I'd be much of a hero in the real version." Again, he met my eyes, offering me a wistful smile.

"I probably shouldn't have joked about it. It doesn't sound like it's something you want to make light of."

"You know what? I'd be almost glad I got it if it wasn't for the fact that…a really great person got hurt a whole lot worse than I did that day."

"Oh," I said softly. "I'm sorry. I hope that person recovered well."

He swallowed. "I don't know if I was much help or hindrance, then or now, but at this point…"

"At this point?" I prompted.

He didn't reply, and after a few moments of silence, I forced myself into his line of vision.

"You know, my therapist assures me that yoga and running are both great for clearing the mind," I smiled.

He chuckled lowly. "So have you taken that advice?"

"Well, I started yoga this morning. As for running, I've run on treadmills in the past, but I'm not sure how to do so on city streets."

His eyes, which had grown so sad, now brightened.

"Guess who's an expert at running through city streets?"

I smirked at him. "How far do you run every morning, Edward, and how quickly?"

"Uh…"

"Yeah, I thought so," I snorted. "Thanks for the offer, but much like you with your latte-art, I'm a novice."

"And I'm a great instructor," he said smugly. "We can start slowly and only go short distances until you work up your stamina."

He looked at me so hopefully, so…pleadingly, and I couldn't deny to myself how he made a heart I once thought dead suddenly race.

"I don't know. I'd hate to slow you down and ruin your morning routine."

"Bella, trust me when I say you…" he hesitated, and though he chuckled when he finished, I got the feeling what he said wasn't exactly what he'd meant to say. "I'd love to run with you."

I didn't reply immediately. There were warning signs, and I had to stop and look both ways. But not all warning signs meant whatever was up ahead was bad.

As Edward waited patiently – or perhaps not-so-patiently – for my answer, a small smile of my own pulled against my lips, and the world beyond the windows, beyond the coffee shop expanded with the possibility…of possibilities.

"Okay."

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

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 **"See" you soon. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. So does the storyline and all mistakes.**

* * *

 **Break – Chapter 6**

It was mid-October.

For a month now, Edward and I had taken to running through sections of lower Manhattan together, every morning, Monday through Thursday.

Early mornings, Edward and I met outside of the coffee shop. After storing our belongings with Pete, the barista, who was a friend of Edward's, we stepped outdoors and stretched our limbs. Edward enjoyed teasing me about my not being an early morning person, and I teased him about his habit of _always_ being in a good mood. After stretching and putting up with his teasing, he'd ask me what direction I wanted to run that morning: down toward Wall Street or up toward the Meatpacking district, by the river or weaving around the government courthouses. The choice was mine.

True to his word, Edward was a great running instructor. He coached me on the basics of being a city jogger, which was a surprisingly involved endeavor. For example, we had to jog in place while waiting for city lights to change, weave around the multitude of rush-hour cabs and Ubers, avoid collisions with other joggers competing for limited space on narrow sidewalks, dodge run-ins with strollers, sidestep eager children on their way to school, circumvent tourists walking around with mouths agape, skirt commuters late to work, and steer clear of every other cellphone-checking individual.

In between, and once my morning mood lifted, Edward and I talked and laughed. He pointed out sights I'd never notice on my own: a man in a business suit feeding pigeons out of his suitcase, or a group of senior citizens doing Tai-Chi. He listened when I wanted to talk and stayed shut when I wanted silence. And though, on the surface, many of our conversations may have been superficial, every morning, I felt as if I got to know Edward more and more.

He was passionate about his job. When I asked him about it, which was often, he described everything to me in the most hypnotizing detail. His voice and cadence had a way of transporting me. I felt the fear of a cholera outbreak, of a flu epidemic, the itch of measles. Even better, I saw a sunset on the African continent, I tasted the delicacies of Asia, and I marveled at the monuments of Europe.

Oh, he slowed his pace for me – a lot. His legs were long and muscular, and I knew that if left to his own devices, he could run to Harlem and back. That's not to say he went easy on me. We ran decent distances, and I understood why his wicking shirt was so damp every morning, why his copper hair stuck up in places. When Edward ran, he put every muscle into it, every limb.

He had a couple of interesting habits while we ran.

One was jogging next to me but running backward whenever we were on a stretch where he wasn't in danger of knocking into anyone or anything. For some reason, I found it an…attractive and attentive habit.

His other habit would usually occur mid-run or so, when the fabled 'Runner's High,' which _I_ was yet to feel, kicked in. I could tell when it hit him, that extra burst of energy he'd release by whistling through his teeth, fist-pumping the air, or running around me in circles so fast it made me dizzy and made me laugh. It was as if his body simply couldn't contain the energy, and it would seep out of his every pore. I suppose that's why the wicking shirt would come off for a bit, and he'd wrap it around his neck while he kept right on running. We held long discussions, while I tried not to stare at the sheen of sweat on his bare chest or ask about the tattoos above his pecks and on his back.

"Do you run every single day, Edward?"

"Every single day."

"Rain or shine?"

"Rain or shine," he grinned. "I've told you I'd love your company every day," he reminded me.

"No, thanks. Four days a week is more than enough for me."

He chuckled. "Let me know if you change your mind."

"Why every day though? Why so much? I mean, not that it hasn't benefited you." I waved a hand in his direction and rolled my eyes at his ensuing smug grin.

"I need to be in good health."

"Don't we all?" I asked.

"Yeah, but I'm around contagious diseases a bit, and the immune system is directly correlated to physical and mental health, so..." He winked at me, tapping his heart and then his head.

While Edward was detailed about some things, he was vague about others. For example, he rarely spoke of his family, only mentioning them in passing and only in ambiguous terms: ' _my mom sent me a text, my dad stopped by_.' He'd mentioned once he wasn't close to them, but I suspected from the furrow of his thick brows, the purse of his lips, and the darkening of his pupils when he referred to his family that the situation was more of a falling out of sorts. Nonetheless, it was his occasionally enigmatic statements about his job which tended to concern me because I suspected they downplayed the dangers of his career.

A shudder ran through me at the thought of Edward actually contracting one of those diseases he chased around the world.

"Then, by all means, make sure you keep yourself healthy, Edward."

He grinned. "Why? Will you miss me if I die?"

"You really do have a sick sense of humor, don't you? I just worry I'll have to look for another jogging partner," I said dryly, laughing at his ensuing scowl. "You asked for that. But honestly, you sound like my therapist."

He quirked a brow.

"She says the same thing," I explained. "That it's all interconnected – physical, mental, and emotional well being. That's why I'm out here with you at the crack of dawn, in the cool, fall breeze instead of curled under my nice, warm covers."

"Oh, _that's_ why," he chuckled, nodding slowly. "I was hoping it was because you couldn't stay away from my company or from my stimulating conversation any longer."

"You're a clown, Edward."

Yet, it was these type of comments which tended to get my heart racing even quicker than the adrenaline did. No, I hadn't experienced the fabled 'Runner's High' yet, but I did occasionally feel light-headed around Edward.

However, I was no longer an impressionable young girl. I was a thirty-two-year-old divorced woman, who once caught her husband fucking one of her best friend's. That has a way of annihilating all belief in fairy-tales and fables – which was perhaps why I was still to experience a Runner's High.

"Nah. I just put up with both your company and your conversation for the sake of my well-being."

"Smart-ass," he smirked. When he turned around, I tried not to stare at his ass.

My writing was another subject he brought up often while we ran.

"So when are you going to let me read what you're writing?"

"Never," I replied just as often.

He'd laugh. "Bella, what's the point of writing if you're not going to share it?"

"Maybe it's just for me, Edward," I'd smile. "I don't _have_ to share. I don't have to do things for others. I can do them just for me."

"True," he'd concede, but then just as often, he'd say, "The curiosity is killing me, you know."

I'd laugh and shake my head. "Sometimes, I wonder what you were like as a child if this is you as an adult."

Once…however, he agreed softly and somewhat sheepishly.

"No, you don't have to share, but I think it would be a shame if you didn't. You're a great writer, Bella."

I snorted. "How would you know that, Edward?"

When he stopped running – backward, by the way – I stopped running as well, so that in the middle of a riverside jogging trail, we faced one another.

"Are you joking me? You write as we're jogging."

At what I suppose was my bewildered expression, Edward sighed impatiently and took an instinctive step closer.

"When I talk about my work, I can practically hear your fingers typing away, and see your mind working around the details."

"Because you provide them so richly."

"Because _you_ draw them out of me, Bella."

When I blinked in an obvious stupor, he huffed again.

"I say I saw a great sunset in Madagascar. You ask what colors and shades, what shape, where exactly it rose, what it made me feel. I say I tasted an interesting morsel in China. You ask for the correct pronunciation, how it was cooked, what it contained, what's the closest approximation to its taste, how I felt as I bit into it; God, Bella," he smiled and shook his head, reaching out to push back a tendril of hair behind my ear, which had come loose from my ponytail, "if you do that while we're running and distracted by car horns, by side-stepping dog crap, and by a myriad of other things…what do you do when your sole focus is your writing?"

I swallowed as I held his gaze, as his warm fingers caressed the sensitive skin behind my ear. The…desire he seemed to have to study me, to watch me, to listen to me, to _know_ me, the undisguised awe and open admiration in his gaze was disarming, flattering, and-

And, no, it was more than flattery. If I had to be honest, I was _attracted_ to Edward more and more with every passing day, with every run, with every moment spent in the coffee shop with him by my side as I wrote and he checked his emails, worked on his laptop, or simply sat and read by my side. And if he moved any closer, if he wanted to-

Edward cleared his throat and took a step back, dropping his hand. When he grinned, the action didn't seem to reach his usually expressive eyes.

"By the way, I hope you're taking care of those fingers." He jerked his angular jaw toward my hands.

I felt thrown by the sudden change in not only topic but in his mood. Nevertheless, I lifted my bandage-covered fingers between us and wiggled them.

"I'm keeping them covered, just as you suggested. You _are_ the germ expert."

"That I am." He offered me a weak smile and pulling his shirt from around his neck, he put it back on. Then, with his eyes on the trail before us, he gestured with his head.

"Come on, let's head back to the coffee shop."

OOOOO

Edward and I never met in the evenings or on weekends. We jogged early mornings, spent late mornings at the coffee shop, and then went our separate ways. However, that's not to say I spent the rest of my time idle – not anymore.

I began realizing…there was a world outside of the apartment which I was apartment-sitting and the coffee shop where I wrote and Dr. Rose's office where I explored my hidden thoughts.

Along with my other new habits, I picked up a routine of throwing on a heavy sweater in the evenings and venturing outdoors. The neighborhood in which I was apartment-sitting was much more stimulating than I'd initially noted, and I took to strolling the streets of lower Tribeca. With its stone-cobbled blocks, red-brick buildings and narrow streets, the area looked much as I imagined it must've looked back in the eighteenth century when New York City was a main trading post into the colonies. That is if one ignored the twenty-first-century storefronts-turned-cafés, restaurants, clubs, boutiques, and galleries.

There was an old-world-style French bakery whose various chocolate pastries literally made my mouth water. In contrast, there was a Poke restaurant with flashing lights and exotic scents which made my eyes pop and my taste buds tingle. There was a trendy hair salon where men and women entrusted their tresses to perfect strangers.

One of my favorite spots was a tiny, Caribbean Sushi joint down the block from the apartment; a bit of a misnomer, yes, but it offered the most eclectic sushi I'd ever imagined.

"You're Bella, right? Here ya go, babe," the hostess said one evening as she handed me my nightly, cardboard to-go box. "Plantain, mango, and avocado sushi. You're gonna enjoy the hell out this one."

I grinned. "I'm trying to get through the whole menu before my apartment-sitting gig is up."

"So, I've noticed," she chuckled. "You're in here every night. When's the gig up?"

"In about four months, which also gives me about that much time in which to decide what I'm going to do with my life afterward."

"Deadlines on all-encompassing life decisions. Gee, ain't those fun?" She grinned wryly. "What are your choices?"

"Well, either stay here, find an apartment, and try to make a living as an aspiring writer with no real connections…or move back home to a tiny, rainy town in Washington State and become a realtor."

She laughed hard but her amusement made me see the humor in it as well. Pretty soon, we were both laughing hysterically.

"So, get this," she said. "Come May, I'll complete my Ph.D. in Art, and then I've gotta convince one of the big uptown museums – the most famous museums in the world, mind you – to give a thirty-year-old woman, whose only work experience is in hostessing and waitressing, a job as a curator. Either that or I'll keep serving up Caribbean sushi. Welcome to the Millennial life!"

"Man, I thought I had it rough."

She pretend-scowled at me. "Glad I could make you feel better. Well, you gotta do what you gotta do, right? My asshole, pig ex-boyfriend – fucking Jared – moved out a few weeks ago, and rent around here isn't cheap, that's for sure."

"Why don't you get a roommate?" I asked.

"I've been told I'm not easy to live with, that I'm just a tad bit OCD when it comes to cleanliness." She sneered. "Fucking Jared."

"Is that why the boyfriend – fucking Jared – is now the asshole, pig ex-boyfriend?"

She barked a laugh, shaking her head. "Man, you'd thinking sleeping with a guy for a month – fucking Jared – would give you a good idea about how clean and tidy he is, right?"

"Uh…"

She snickered. "Yeah, yeah. The shit you learn about someone's eating and bathing habits when you live with them is frightening! Fucking Jared." Her ensuing shudder made me laugh. "So now, I've decided it might be a good idea to know someone for longer than a month before I decide to live with them."

"Might be a good plan. Either way," I snorted, "sometimes you can live with a guy for years and still not know him the way you think you do. Trust is all a matter of chance."

The hostess lifted a curious eyebrow.

"I'm divorced."

"Ahh." She chuckled. "Explains it. Fuckers, aren't they?"

"I'm starting to think…maybe not all of them are," I grinned.

"Maybe not all of them, but enough of them to give the species as a whole a bad name. Fucking Jared. If I was one of the good guys out there, I would beat the shit out of the bad ones just for making me look bad."

Again, we shared a long laugh.

"Do you have kids?"

"No," I said quietly, my amusement fading. "Do you?"

"Nope."

The hostess was tall and curvy, with the most perfect curls imaginable, smooth ebony skin, and eyes so dark they made the whites around them pop. Her long eyelashes curved all the way to her eyelids, and her plump lips were an envious shade of natural red.

"I'm Makenna, by the way." She put a hand out to me. "And I know your name is Bella because you've been in here every day for the past two weeks ordering a different sushi-to-go. And I keep wondering to myself," she said, placing a hand on her hip, "'Why isn't this chick out with some dude or some girl or something? She's way too gorgeous to be out by herself every night."

Again, I chuckled. "Ditto and thank you. It's good to meet you, Makenna, and in reply to your previously internal musings, I'll admit it's taken me a while to get back into the swing of things since the divorce."

"That's understandable," she said softly. Then with more energy, she added, "But I see you got your hair done tonight. Getting ready for the weekend? It looks hot, girl! You got a boyfriend to impress?"

I dismissed the image of my jogging slash coffee buddy and shook my head, smiling as I smoothed down my new, shoulder-length, straight bob. "Nope. But my therapist constantly reminds me it's good to impress myself."

"Well, that's sure as hell true," she grinned. "So hey, being you're sort of semi-kinda-new to the neighborhood, and you've got this great, new do," she teased, "why don't you come out with me and some friends this weekend? We tend to stay local and do some bar-hopping, gallery-hopping slash wine-tasting, and then wander into random restaurants to catch one of the local bands 'til either the sun comes up or we get thrown out."

My first impulse was to thank her for the invitation but then turn her down. My world was expanding, yes, but I'd created a sort of safety bubble which consisted of Monday through Thursday runs with Edward, coffee shop, Dr. Rose's office, and my borrowed apartment.

My mouth, however, and I suppose, my subconscious, had different impulses.

"That sounds great. I'd love to." And as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized…they were true.

"Good," she grinned. "And hey, some of the guys we hang out with are pretty good-looking."

"Oh," I waved off her insinuation. "Thanks, but I'm not looking to get involved with anyone."

Again, I dismissed the mental image that came to mind.

"Oh, don't worry," she said. "I'm not the type to play matchmaker, but you never know what might happen when you meet new people," she said in a sing-song voice.

"I'm starting to see that," I smiled. We exchanged information, talked a bit more until new take-out orders came in, and I left with take-out sushi and the gratifying knowledge that I'd made a new friend.

OOOOO

I walked into my building with a smile on my face – a smile which was obliterated by the person who waited for me by the elevator, once again leaned up against the wall, and with his hands dug deep in his pockets.

"What the hell are you doing here _now_?"

Jasper pushed himself off the wall. "Hi to you too, Bella."

I blinked. "What?"

"I just came to see if you found the jersey."

"I haven't looked for it." I moved past him and dug my finger into the elevator call button.

He sighed behind me; his breath on my neck, once an aphrodisiac, now infuriated me.

"It's been a month, Bella."

"And?" I spat at the elevator door. "Finding your jersey isn't exactly a priority for me. Besides, it's not like your…" I swallowed, "your son will fit into it anytime soon."

Dad's furious words from a month earlier abruptly ran through my mind. Dr. Rose had also found Jasper's request odd when I mentioned it to her.

"When I get a chance to look for it, I'll let you know."

"Are you sure you didn't burn it?"

I rounded on him. "No, I'm not sure. I was a fucking lunatic back then, remember? Isn't that what you called me – a fucking lunatic?"

"Bella…" he swallowed, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck; an action I found extremely irritating. "It's been over a year. Don't you think we can…I mean, your parents are divorced, yet they're still-"

"Don't," I hissed. "Don't you dare. I mean, are you kidding me with this? My father never had my mother arrested and then released on the condition that she spend time in a mental institution and then eighteen months in therapy."

"Your mother never physically attacked your father," he retorted, "destroyed public property, then threatened to-" He sighed. "Bella, she was pregnant, and I was upset. What did you expect-?"

I lifted my palm between us. "Why are we discussing this? You need to leave."

Jasper swallowed, his jaw tightening, yet he made no move to go. His eyes flashed down to the to-go cardboard box in my hand.

"What do you have there?"

My eyes grew wide at his senseless question, puzzled beyond belief.

"Jasper, if and when I find your jersey, I'll let you know. Now, go please." I turned my back on him again. Where the fuck was that elevator?

"You just can't move past your anger, can you, Bella? Nor can you admit that maybe…maybe some of what happened was your fault."

When I replied, my voice shook. "How fucking dare you? _I_ wasn't at fault in this. It _wasn't_ my fault."

He snorted. "Are you sure about that?"

I dropped my head and shook it from side to side. "Jesus, I didn't know you at all, did I? One month or seven years together; it would've made no difference."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you need to leave," I said as calmly as possible. "Don't show up here again. If I find your jersey, I'll have my lawyer inform your lawyer."

"You want to get the lawyers involved regarding a _jersey_?"

"You got the fucking cops involved regarding your cheating."

"You broke a window, a phone, and a man's-"

The elevator bell rang, announcing its arrival, and I hastily pulled open the door.

"I'll let the lawyers know if I find anything."

As I stepped in and turned, I met Jasper's gaze. He stared at me long and hard until the door screeched shut.

OOOOO

" _Get out of my way, Jasper. Get out of my way!"_

" _Stop it, Bella! Stop! You're acting like a fucking lunatic!"_

" _Get out of my way! I'm going to kill the bitch!"_

" _Jasper, hold her back! She's going to hurt the baby! Someone call the cops!"_

" _Calm down, Alice! I've got her! Bella-"_

" _No one call the cops. She's got a right to be upset. Miss-"_

" _You want to call the cops on me, bitch?! You want to call the cops?! I'll fucking give you a reason to call the cops. I'm going to kick your fucking ass so hard you're going to end up on the moon!"_

" _You can't touch me! I'm pregnant!"_

" _I'm pregnant…"_

" _I'm pregnant…"_

" _I'm pregnant…"_

OOOOO

The next morning was Thursday, and while Edward and I stretched mid-run, I felt Edward's eyes constantly roam over me. His gaze had been focused on me all morning. Oh, I knew it wasn't on me due to any sort of appreciation. Unwilling to be one of those runners who chose fashion over function, I decided from the beginning I'd wear comfortable and basic running clothes. As for my new hairdo, it was disguised by the ponytail I wore when we ran – which was a good thing. Thanks to my ex-husband, I'd tossed and turned all night, full of nightmares and dark memories. The result was dark circles, a shitty mood, and a bob that looked more like a fucking mushroom rather than the sleek style of the previous evening.

We were by the river, in an area where a cluster of shiny steel skyscrapers concealed a beautiful, man-made Eden. It was a local secret, a hideout from the hordes of tourists clamoring for the perfect shot of Lady Liberty just across the water. It was a garden within a copse where seasonal plants and bushes were religiously tended by volunteer neighborhood residents. The flora was interspersed with concrete benches perfectly arranged for optimal viewing of the garden as well as of the river, the bridges, and the majestic Statue. A joggers' runway was stamped in concrete along the fenced river view, which ran all the way down from Battery Park overlooking Ellis Island, parallel to the West Side Highway, past the busy Piers, and all the way to my old neighborhood of Chelsea.

That morning, however, I was in a dark place, regardless of the beauty surrounding me.

Edward stretched his long legs, one forward and one backward. He swiveled his lean waist from side to side, grabbed one shoulder and then the other. Then, he straightened and waited for me to look at him.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

"What makes you think something's wrong?" I replied, gazing out at the river.

We ran silently, side by side, but it was neither comfortable nor companionable. My anger was a wall between us.

All of a sudden, Edward passed me - like, literally sprinted ahead; first a few yards, then a quarter block, then a half block. My heart raced from adrenaline…and from the fear that I'd finally pushed Edward away.

But then he turned around and jogged back toward me with a grin across his face. His cheeks were flushed, his shirt stuck to his sweaty chest. When he reached me, he matched my pace for a few seconds before surging ahead again, while still running backward. He ran toward me again, then surged ahead. Back and forth, back and forth.

I burst out laughing.

Unable to laugh so hard _and_ run, I stopped and rested my hands on my knees.

"God, you're such a clown."

He chuckled and crouched down to my eye level so that when I looked up, I had no choice but to meet his warm, green gaze.

"Bella, the shit I see sometimes…" he smiled wistfully and shook his head. "I've got to keep my spirits up. Body and mind all interconnected, remember?"

"Then why the hell do you hang out with me, Edward?" I whispered raggedly.

His wistful smile faded. When he slid his hand around my neck, my legs almost gave, overwhelmed by the heat, by confusion, and by the comfort of his touch.

"You want to know something? _You_ are my Runner's High lately." He swallowed and grinned. "And your neck is sweaty."

I choked on a laugh. "You're an asshole."

He chuckled. "Come on, let's take a break.

With his hand on the small of my sweaty back, Edward led us to one of the concrete benches along the joggers' path.

We sat side by side, staring out at the morning mist over Lady Liberty and Ellis Island. In the relative silence, both Edward's and my labored breaths were loud and pronounced. I drew in a deep one, releasing it in a puff of white smoke.

"Falls are so short here in New York, aren't they?" I noted.

"Summer and fall are definitely the shortest seasons."

"What's your favorite season?"

"I don't really have a favorite, which is why I stay in New York. I like having four seasons."

"I grew up with a lot of rain. I like sunshine."

"I like sunshine too."

"My ex-husband stopped by my apartment building last night."

Edward's labored breaths stopped.

"Did he now?" he finally said.

"Yeah. It's not the first time."

"I don't know how much I can ask here, Bella," he said after a few moments.

"He has…a baby – a son, with his girlfriend. He's been asking me to look for a Seahawks jersey he can't seem to find."

"Why is he asking you for it?"

"I used to wear it to sleep. He says he wants the jersey for his son, for when he's older. I guess as a hand-me-down? An heirloom?"

In my periphery, Edward appeared as still as the large, green statue before us.

"An heirloom," Edward echoed, nodding thoughtfully, his voice a strange monotone. "Tell me something. Was this jersey signed by the entire Seahawks organization on the occasion of their last Super Bowl win?"

"No," I snorted. "It's just a basic jersey."

Another few moments of silence transpired.

"Then it seems like a strange thing for a man to bequeath his son," he said, his voice low and rough, "his ex-wife's _pajamas_."

"I don't know that I'd call it my pajamas," I said. "It was _his_ jersey; though…my dad said something similar recently."

Again, Edward nodded slowly, thoughtfully. When out of the corner of my eye, I saw his head turn in my direction, I turned mine toward him as well. And when our eyes met, his were as clouded as the dark water before us.

"Do you _want_ my opinion, Bella?"

For some reason, my heart pounded heavily. "If I didn't want your opinion, I wouldn't have brought it up."

"All right. To me, it sounds like Jasper simply wants the shirt you slept in for himself, not for his kid."

I shook my head and frowned. "I don't understand."

"It's pretty self-explanatory."

I held his dark gaze.

"Edward, it doesn't make sense. My ex-husband and I didn't have what you'd call a friendly or even a civil divorce. In fact, it was pretty much as bad as it could get. I caught him cheating."

In the ensuing silence, Edward seemed as if he would either speak…or explode. When he did neither, I continued.

"And when I say I caught him cheating, I mean I _literally_ caught him." My eyes swept away from Edward and toward the green waters again. "And despite actually catching him in the act, I gave him a choice, and he chose her."

"Bella…"

"She was pregnant, and she threw it in my face because…because she and I were friends, and she knew things about me; she knew I was having a hard time getting pregnant."

"Fuck. Bella…" Edward breathed.

"Things got heated, and suffice it to say, she and I are no longer friends." I didn't expand, and for once, Edward didn't ask me for details, something for which I was grateful. As comfortable as I felt speaking with him, I wasn't ready to spill it all; not yet.

So, for a while, Edward and I sat silently side by side. When he angled sideways and took my hand, weaving our fingers together, I kept my gaze on the river. With his other hand, he took my chin and guided my eyes to him, his handsome face filling my vision.

"Bella, do you still have feelings for him?"

"It's not that." A silent tear rolled down my cheek. "I made such a fool of myself when it came to both of them. And every time I'm faced with the slightest reminder of them, it's like I take a step backward, lose a bit of progress or whatever you want to call it. Reminders of them fuck with my mood, as you saw for yourself this morning. But I don't want them to have that power over me anymore."

Edward dropped his head and shook it from side to side. "God," he breathed. He inhaled and exhaled. "God."

"My question is, Edward, was I wrong to get angry because there was a baby involved? Should I have set my anger aside? Should I set it aside now? Is that what's keeping me from moving forward? He says it's time I moved past it, that I should accept it was all partly my fault, that I-"

Edward's large, strong hands suddenly cradled my face.

"Listen to me, Bella. Jasper is…full of shit," he spat through clenched teeth. "Don't listen to a fucking word he says. _You_ had a right to your anger."

"Yes, but Edward, it got pretty…ugly. You weren't there; you don't know."

Edward squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed thickly. Slowly, he moved in and brushed his lips to my forehead.

"You did _nothing_ wrong," he repeated fervently, his warm breath washing over me. "Nothing at all. You didn't. I think…I think your anger was…is fucking justified." He paused. "So next time you see Jasper, tell him to fuck off. Tell him you'll call the cops if he keeps harassing you. You don't have to play nice with him or with anyone, and you shouldn't have had to take responsibility for shit."

His intensity startled me. "Uh, all right, then."

"Okay," he repeated with a sheepish chuckle.

"Fine."

"All right."

With a chuckle of my own, I pulled away and met Edward's eyes.

" _Thank you_ , Edward. I don't usually discuss these things with anyone other than my therapist, but with you…" Instinctively, I reached out and cupped Edward's cheek. It was rough and stubbly, yet at the same time…for a few, wonderful seconds, I wordlessly caressed his square jaw with my thumb. "Edward, how is it that you get me so well?"

He held my gaze silently, Adam's apple bobbing. Then he stood so suddenly my hand remained poised in midair. When I looked up at him, Edward stared at me through large, guilt-ridden eyes.

"Come on, let's finish our run," I said.

I took off without waiting for him or for a reply, face flaming, my pace faster than it had been before, fueled by regret and embarrassment.

"Bella," he called from behind me.

I didn't look back. I jogged out of the garden and back into civilization, into streets crowded cabs and by tourists and commuters and ladies with strollers.

"Bella, please, let me explain."

"There's nothing to explain," I said evenly.

"There is, Bella. Please stop and listen to me. You don't understand."

"I read the signs wrong. It's fine," I said. "It's been a while, and I'm out of practice. Though to be fair, with your constant praise and your latte-art and your 'let's be running buddies' and-"

When he reached out and gently yet firmly tugged on my arm to halt me mid-stride, I rounded on him, jogging in place, just as he'd taught me. But when I met his gaze, his eyes were too tortured for my fury.

"You didn't read the signs wrong, Bella. You didn't."

"I don't blame you, Edward, not really. I'm a handful; I know." I jogged away from him backward, just as he usually jogged with me.

"It's not you, Bella, it's me. Bella, I'm-" His eyes rounded in horror. "BELLA!"

A horn blared, and a sharp gust of air cut past my ass a fraction of a second after Edward reached out and pulled me into his arms, so hard and fast I banged my head against his unyielding, sweaty chest.

"Watch where the fuck you're running lady! Jesus Christ! Fucking city joggers!" the cab driver yelled through the window as he sped by.

"Ow! Fuck! And yuck!" I grimaced as I pulled out of Edward's arms.

Standing at the curb, Edward glared at me, chest heaving. He raked a hand through his damp hair, fisted it. Then, he cradled my face and pulled me toward him, crushing his mouth to mine.

Some things…take practice to recall, like how to hold conversations with strangers, how to make friends, how to open up, how to trust…

Some things are instinctive.

Edward's mouth on mine was instinctive. He sucked on my bottom lip, on my top lip, and hungrily alternated between both before kissing my nose, my eyes, and returning to my mouth. All the while, I stood at the curb with him, hands limply at my sides, but my mouth responded eagerly, intuitively. When we finally pulled away, I gazed up at him in a heady daze.

Edward smiled softly. "I told you that you didn't read the signs wrong."

"I suppose I didn't," I chuckled.

The back of his fingers skimmed across my jawline. "I'd like to take you out, Bella, if that's okay. There are things I'd like to discuss with you, but not while we're out for a jog or hanging out in a coffee shop."

I swallowed. "I know I asked you before, but are you married?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head, not even fazed by my need to repeat the inquiry. "But there _is_ something I should've probably told you from the very beginning."

"Okay," I said.

He nodded. "Is tomorrow night okay?"

"Yeah," I smiled. "Actually, no!" I shook my head. "No. I've made plans with a new friend. "How about Saturday?"

He shook his head. "I can't make Saturday this week. I've got to…meet with my parents about something. And Sunday I'm leaving for Atlanta. I told you about the weeklong conference at CDC headquarters."

"Yeah." I sighed. "Yeah, you did."

"I'll be back next Friday. Can I take you out then?"

"Sure," I smiled. "I'll look forward to it."

"Me too," he said. Nonetheless, he seemed pretty miserable at the prospect.

"Are you sure you want to? Because you look tortured by the thought."

"Yes," he nodded swiftly, moving in and kissing me quickly. "Yes," he repeated against my lips. "I'm sure. I just hope after we talk…you'll still want to see me."

"Sounds pretty cryptic. Are you contagious?" I teased.

He snorted. "No, Bella. No, I'm not. Not at all."

My brow furrowed. For a few moments, we held one another's gaze silently. Then, Edward reached out and took my hand, weaving our fingers together.

"Come on, let's go have our coffee."

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **I posted a teaser on Facebook, and the scene isn't here. Next chapter. :)**

 **Facebook: Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

" **See" you soon.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks so much for your wonderful thoughts.**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. So do all mistakes.**

 **BREAK – Chapter 7**

* * *

" _Bella, you're making this really ugly."_

" _ **I'm**_ _making this…? You want to see ugly?"_

" _Bella, put the shoe down!"_

" _Miss- Bella, I know you're angry, but if he cheated on you, he's not worth-"_

" _Go ahead, Alice; keep hiding behind Jasper! I'm still going to stick this fucking heel so deep into your eyeball-"_

" _Jasper, the baby! Stop her!"_

" _Jasper, get out of my way!"_

" _Damn it, Bella, stop this! Keep that other shoe on!"_

" _Get out of my way, you cheating sack of shit before I use it to chop your balls into a million pieces!"_

" _Hey asshole, you're gonna hurt your wife. How 'bout you let go of her arm before I-"_

" _Holy fuck! You see, dude?_ _ **That's**_ _why I was holding her arm! Look at what she did to the window! Damn it, Bella, now the cops are sure to come!"_

" _I don't give a damn! They can come and take away her dead body_ _ **and**_ _yours once I'm done with you both!"_

" _OW! Goddamn it! Stop it, Bella! Stop hitting me!"_

" _You cheating bastard!"_

" _Bella, stop!"_

" _Bella? Bella, come here. They're not worth it. I know you're angry, but they're not worth your getting in trouble. Come here. That's right."_

" _They lied to me!"_

" _I know, but I've got you."_

 _I've got you…_

 _I've got you…_

 _I've got you…_

I sat up in bed with a start.

Tangled in my bedsheets, I twisted and turned out of them, almost falling off the edge. Moonbeams peeking in between the shuttered window blinds landed across the bed, highlighting my heavy breaths, the rise and fall of my chest as my heart slammed against my ribcage. When my hand found its way into my hair and fisted it, the white light sent shadow puppets dancing on the walls. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to recall the dream, tried to understand why it left me with a taste of loss, of hurt, of confusion…yet overwhelmed by comfort.

But as is often the case when a dream wakes you in the middle of the night, soon my shuttered eyes grew sleepy, and if memories of the dream happened to surface, my subconscious buried them once again.

OOOOO

 **Hey, Bella, it's Edward. Just wanted to say hi.**

 **Hi, Edward. What's up?**

 **Not much. At work getting some stuff together for next week. I was asked to give a last-minute speech next Friday morning, so I'm getting some files together to prepare. Missed you during the run this morning. What are you up to today?**

 **Running errands for the Clearwaters – part of my duties as apartment-sitter entails picking out a weekly arrangement for their living room window, which faces the river. They ask me to text them a picture every weekend with a different arrangement so that they can imagine themselves standing in their living room.**

 **That sounds…interesting.**

 **Lol. They provide the funds, I do as bid.**

I hit the send arrow, paused, exhaled through narrowed lips, and allowed my thumbs to move swiftly again.

 **I missed seeing you this morning too.**

I pocketed the phone and resumed my stride, giving up at the end of the block when I felt the vibration of a reply.

 **Bella, you just made my week, and it promises to be a hectic one in more ways than one.**

Before I could pocket the phone, he sent another text on the heels of that one.

 **I dreamed of our kiss.**

Standing at the curb of a crowded, city block, I grinned like a fool. Could I reply openly to that one? I forced my fingers to move before I could change my mind.

 **I thought of it last night too. But then I think I had a nightmare. Lol.**

Again putting away my phone, I crossed the street carefully, looking both ways lest I almost get hit by a cab again while lost in Edward.

 **What did you dream?** I read while I picked out flowers.

 **I don't remember. What do you think of these flowers – include them or not?** I snapped him a picture of what I had so far.

 **That's gorgeous, Bella. You have an artist's eye in so many ways. Include them. So, do you still have plans for tonight?**

 **Yes. I'm both excited and nervous.**

 **Do you want to know my honest thoughts?**

He typed out his thoughts before I could reply.

 **I think I'm lucky, in so many ways, that you agreed to go out with me next Friday night. I think that now that you're opening yourself back up, your time is going to be in high demand.**

 **Lol. Edward, you're such a clown.**

 **I wasn't joking. All right, have fun, and be careful. May I text you again during the week?**

 **Of course. I'll look forward to it.**

 **Bella, there's SO much I want to say to you, but I want to be next to you when I say it.**

My thumbs hovered over the phone's keyboard, unsure how to reply to that one. Either way, he texted again first.

 **I'll text you soon, okay?**

 **Okay, Edward. Take care.** I set the phone in my purse.

"Okay, Gianna," I said to the florist, a woman about my age or so who always helped me with the arrangements. "I think we're done."

"Great choices, Bella. I've noticed you're moving away from the basic red roses and white tulips lately," she grinned.

"Was I that predictable every week?"

"Well…"

I snorted and shook my head. "Poor Mrs. Clearwater."

Gianna laughed. "Well, I don't know about 'poor.'"

I sniffed the arrangement and sighed. "I guess…I'm more inspired lately."

Gianna chuckled knowingly. "Oh, I know that type of inspiration. Should I have these delivered?"

"Yep. Same address as usual."

"Cool. I'll get these out for you and then I'll go grab my lunch next door."

"I noticed that place just opened," I mused. "Do they make good food? I'm sort of hungry."

"They make the best damn sandwiches. Why don't you join me and you can tell me all about this recent bout of inspiration?" she teased.

I laughed. "I do love sandwiches." "

OOOOO

That Friday night was an evening full of surprises.

When Makenna's cousin leaned into me and spoke close to my ear, it startled me.

"Ready for another beer?"

Surprisingly however, his sudden proximity didn't _disturb_ me; not the way someone's abrupt proximity would've annoyed me just a few months earlier.

Looking down at the proffered bottle, I accepted it with a smile.

"Sure, thanks…Brady, right?"

He grinned in acknowledgment and held up his bottle so I could clink mine to his.

"Cheers." As he drank, his eyes remained fixed on me.

Makenna wasn't joking when she said she knew some good-looking guys. There were three of them in our large party that night. One was her cousin, Brady, who had strikingly pale blue eyes framed by a smooth, ebony face. When Brady first arrived, the bar's smoky haze and the dim lighting shadowed him, while the loud music and conversation eclipsed him. However, while those in our group stood to either order another round, for a trip to the restroom, to make a call, etc., Brady had apparently played a game of musical chairs.

Now, this close to me, and despite the green eyes, stubbly jaw, and soft lips which filled my thoughts for the past couple of days, Brady's handsome face was no longer quite so veiled.

Brady set down his bottle. "So what do you do for a living, Bella?"

"Right now? I'm writing a novel while I apartment-sit for some friends and take the next four months, before those friends return and kick me out, to decide what to do with the rest of my life."

"Apartment-sitting, novel-writing, and the possibility of homelessness in the next four months." He nodded and took another drink. "That actually sounds like the life of someone destined to write a worldwide bestseller, and it deserves another toast. Cheers."

"Uh…okay." I chuckled as we clinked our bottles together yet again.

"You're like that author who was about a dollar away from declaring herself bankrupt before she published what's arguably the Bible to some today."

"While I thank you for the vote of confidence, the author to whom you refer is British, so it's more likely she was a _pound_ away from bankruptcy, not a dollar."

He conceded with a broad-shouldered shrug. "Good point. And I believe the pound was almost double in value to the dollar at the time, so it's an important distinction, which deserves another toast. Cheers."

I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing as we toasted once more.

"They say it's all a matter of chance anyway, don't they?" Brady said after another swig. "Our entire lives are chapters waiting to be written by good strokes of the pen or by bad strokes of the pen."

"I've heard something similar," I said. "Though, the way I've heard it, most chapters fall somewhere in between good and bad."

He raised his bottle in acknowledgment, and I was somewhat disappointed when he didn't suggest another toast.

"Yes. Yes, you're right. Not everything can be classified into such rigid categories. Flexibility is something I try to instill in my students, especially nowadays."

"So, you're a teacher?" I asked as he held my gaze through those wintry-blue eyes.

"Yep. I'm a history teacher at a middle-school uptown."

"My dad's a big history buff."

"Hey, so is mine. That's too much of a coincidence. It deserves another toast. Cheers."

We drank.

"But yeah, when I was growing up," he said, "every sentence my dad and I shared had to contain a date and a historical reference."

"That sounds like an interesting childhood."

"It was immensely stimulating, and it had the side benefit of making me quite popular with others as I grew older."

"So, you spout historical references at random?" I asked.

"Only when I'm trying to impress people."

"You haven't spouted any during our conversation."

"Maybe I'm not trying to impress you." He grinned, showcasing a set of perfect teeth.

"Ahh," I said, hiding my amusement by taking another drink.

"So now, though I try to keep up with current events so that I can remain relevant in a world full of Kardashians and Kombucha, I try to instill my undeniable love for history and the attractiveness it conveys into my students as well as into my own kids; though, mine are still so young that I'm not so sure how well I'm faring."

By then, I'd given up the struggle not to laugh, and Brady laughed along with me. He had a deep, contagious laugh.

"So, you have children?" I asked, inwardly marveling at how naturally, how conversationally the question had erupted from me.

"Yep." Brady reached into his back pocket and pulled out his cellphone, grinning as he scrolled. He stopped at a none-too-shabby image of himself wearing black board shorts while strolling down a white-sand shoreline, blue waters lapping at his bare feet and palm trees swaying off to the side. But none of those images were the picture's main focus. On either side of him, Brady held the hand a beautiful, golden-haired and caramel-skinned child.

"Anna is six, and Quil is four. This is one of the most recent pictures we have from this past summer." The entire time he spoke, Brady's voice was infused with the same sort of pride and joy he radiated in the picture. "I took 'em to the Bahamas for a week, to that resort with the waterpark and the Aquarium? We had a blast."

"They're seriously adorable. Congratulations, Brady. You and your wife make beauties." I smiled softly.

"Thank you," he replied, repocketing the phone, "and while their mom and I will undoubtedly agree with you on the beauties part, she's my _ex_ -wife."

"Oh. I'm sorry." I offered him a contrite smile.

He waved off my condolences. "Don't be sorry. Things don't always work out, right? We're all much happier now. Doesn't benefit anyone, least of all the kids, if the parents remain in a relationship that's not working."

"I suppose," I murmured. At the question in his raised brow, I explained myself. "I'm recently divorced as well, but we had no kids; although he has one now."

"Ah, okay. Should I offer _my_ condolences for the divorce?" he asked with a soft smile of his own.

"Not really; no."

A shared chuckle dispelled the hint of tension. When Brady's laughter faded, the grin remaining showcased a perfect set of dimples.

"Yeah, divorce takes getting used to. For one, you've got to learn how to be out there again when you thought all that bullshit was behind you."

I chuckled heartily. "True."

"Not that it doesn't give you the opportunity to meet interesting people." He smiled.

"Also true. Cheers?" I raised my bottle, and he raised his.

"Though, my ex-wife lucked out and remarried a year ago. Her new husband is a decent guy – thank goodness," he stressed. "The kids are the most important beings in our lives, and whoever shares our lives has to love them as much as we do."

"Then I'd say you and your ex-wife definitely have your priorities set straight."

"Thank you," he said softly. "And I think that deserves a toast. Cheers."

"Cheers," I laughed.

OOOOO

Brady and Makenna walked me home, the three of us promising to meet late the next day for brunch after we slept off our hangovers. Makenna and I shared warm hugs. But then Makenna had a sudden coughing fit which necessitated her walking away as quickly as her uneven steps could carry her.

"So, it was really good to meet you, Bella," Brady said, hands in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. "I had a great time tonight."

"It was good to meet you too, Brady," I grinned, "and I had a wonderful time with all of you. It's been a while since I was out with such a great group."

The city lights shone off of Brady's ebony skin, making him almost ethereal. Then again, I was buzzed, so everything glowed. He was about average height so that when he stepped closer, I didn't have to tilt my head as sharply to hold his gaze as I did with Edward. A good thing because I swayed slightly as he neared.

"Whoa, are you okay?" He reached tentatively, but I backed away, chuckling.

"I'm fine. I just haven't gotten buzzed in a while."

"Well then, I'm glad you chose our crazy group with which to get drunk. Hey listen," he cleared his throat, "I know we're all getting together later for brunch, but I was wondering if…" another throat clearing, "you wanted to get together later on in the week? Maybe Friday for dinner or something?"

"Uhm…" I scratched my head. "I might have something Friday."

"Oh. So, how about Saturday? I've got the kids early in the day, but maybe dinner?"

My prolonged silence must've clued Brady in to my hesitancy. He stopped rocking on his feet.

"I'm sorry, I assumed from our conversations tonight that you weren't involved with anyone? Did I assume wrong?"

I smiled sheepishly. "Brady, I'm sorry. There sort of is someone, but it's very recent, and…I _was_ giving off mixed signals." I raked a hand through my hair. "I apologize, and although I do find you attractive and interesting, I…"

Brady chuckled good-naturedly. "Well, it's definitely gratifying to know you find me attractive and interesting."

"I _must_ be drunk to have admitted that so easily," I laughed.

"I think we're all somewhat drunk," he chuckled, "so, I'll use that excuse to admit I'm a bit disappointed since I find you immensely attractive and interesting as well. Still, I hope we can be friends?"

"Of course," I agreed quickly. "I really did enjoy your company tonight."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that then." He grinned broadly, showcasing those dimples yet again. "I'll see you later today, Bella?" he double-checked as he began a slow turn.

"I'll see you later today, Brady."

OOOOO

" _I'm going to kill them both!"_

" _You have to try to stop saying that, okay? Security called the cops."_

" _I don't give a fuck!"_

" _Shh. Come here. They're not worth it, Bella. If they did this to you, they're not worth it."_

" _They're assholes!"_

" _Yes, they are. Come here. That's right. Shh. It'll be okay. I promise you."_

" _I promise you…"_

" _I promise you…"_

" _I promise you…"_

Again, I awoke with a start, my only memory was the realization that I'd awoken with a name on my lips…and with the feel of a warm set of arms around me.

OOOOO

 **Unofficial Notes taken during session between myself, Dr. Rosalie Lane-Stevens, and Isabella Swan, patient.**

Bella and I have met weekly for fourteen months. Her therapy has progressed with advancements and setbacks along an overall normal pattern. She has a sharp mind and a strong will, which are advantages, though they sometimes mean past erroneous beliefs and thought processes take longer to work through. However, her resolve also means that when triggers are acknowledged, Bella shows a wonderful ability to turn to coping mechanisms. That being said, as I continually remind all my patients, cognitive awareness is a lifelong endeavor.

Over the past six sessions, Bella's self-awareness has progressed by leaps and bounds. There are numerous reasons for this burst of forward progression, i.e.:

The clinical stages of grief, which can't be avoided, have presented themselves and been given acknowledgment;

Time, which always proves itself one of the best healers, has elapsed;

Friendships are being formed;

And, of course, a romantic interest should never be discounted in importance.

In this case, _Edward_ (aka Yeti), has re-sparked Bella's interest in the opposite sex (I did tell her she wasn't a lesbian, lol). Bella's overall mood improves considerably as well; she advances from acutely distrustful at the onset of our sessions fourteen months earlier to cautiously optimistic as she begins to reconstruct her life, work through issues, search for solutions to problems and to triggers, accept the past, find enjoyment in previous activities (writing), in new activities (exercise, running, socialization), and anticipate (though somewhat still guardedly) future activities (friendships, the aforementioned Yeti).

Side Note: The past couple of sessions with Bella are like running a marathon. This vibrant, young woman, who fourteen months ago believed the best days of her life were behind her, literally gushes today.

Okay, enough side notes; Bella is on a roll, and I must focus!

We begin the session with a discussion on the new friendships she's building:

"…on Friday night, Makenna met me outside of the apartment building-"

"She picked you up?"

"Yeah, which made it less awkward for me to walk into the bar and meet her friends, especially since I _was_ nervous, Doc," Bella admits.

Though I'll never add to her anxiety, I'm admittedly nervous as well. Yes, making new friends is a wonderful step in the right direction, but after her previous experience, I hope she only ever makes good ones.

"But it turned out I really didn't have to be uneasy. We started out at a bar where we met with four other people: Maggie, who's at NYU with Makenna; Bree, who own the sushi place where Makenna works; Bree's boyfriend, Diego; and Diego's best friend, Sam."

"It was a nice-sized group," I point out.

 _Positive, social group interactions – Win._

"That's what made it so comfortable. Makenna and I had a great time talking one on one on our way to the bar. She's such an open book; she told me all about her family, growing up in Brooklyn, her parents' wary acceptance of her career choice. But then, at the bar, I had so many interesting people to meet, and I felt as if I already had someone in my corner."

When Bella pauses, I allow her time to process her own words. I wonder if she realizes how our past few sessions are led more by her than they are by me?

"Anyway, they were all the nicest people, really friendly and down-to-earth, who went out of their way to make me feel welcome."

Bella hugs her favorite pillow. Her eyes sweep around the room. When she smiles, I follow her gaze to one of my framed quotes, which appears to catch her attention even more recently.

 _Healing doesn't mean the damage never existed. It means the damage no longer controls our lives._

"A few minutes after we arrived at the bar, Makenna's cousin, Brady met us."

Here, Bella proceeds to give me a run-down on her time with Brady.

 _Comfortable enough to flirt – Win._

"Sounds like some fun flirting," I say with a grin.

 _Competition for Yeti?_

Bella sits up and turns to me.

"I _was_ flirting with Brady, but…"

"But?" I prompt. "Bella, there's nothing wrong with-"

"Edward and I kissed the other morning."

Do you see what I mean?

 _What do I even classify this one?_

 _WIN? Huge WIN? Step forward? Nonetheless, an imminent discussion on ensuring all relationships are nurtured not to the exclusion-_

"Doc Rose?"

"Hold on, Bella," I say, holding a finger up in the air. "I won't even pretend I'm not writing some serious notes up on this one."

When I look back up at her, she's smirking, and I laugh openly.

"Holy heck, Bella," I finally say, choking back the rest of my overjoyed laughter. "Holy. Heck."

Bella laughs as well, but when she goes on to explain what prompted this kiss, my admitted elation at her progression is somewhat extinguished.

"There are a couple of biggies there."

"Yes, there are."

"First and foremost, that's twice Jasper has appeared at your apartment unannounced and uninvited, Bella. I tend to agree with Edward's opinion as it relates to your ex-husband: the man is full of shit, and if he appears at your doorstep again, let him know you're seriously considering getting the cops involved."

Bella sighs and lays back down. "You should've seen Edward's expression, Dr. Rose. He was so angry on my behalf. He said my anger at Jasper was justified."

"Your anger definitely wasn't wrong, Bella, and it's understandable how hearing Edward say it was a relief. His opinion is becoming important to you. I _am_ …a bit uneasy, however, that he claims he has something he needs to tell you and hasn't told you yet. Delays usually lead to more trouble."

Bella is quiet.

"Bella?" I prompt after a couple of minutes.

"Dr. Rose, do you know that in the few days I've known Makenna, I feel as if I know her so much more than I ever knew Alice?"

Talk about delays; she's clearly changing the subject. But that's how life works, right? Two steps forward, one back.

"How come?" I ask softy, even though, from fourteen months of sessions, I more or less know the answer. But Bella needs to verbalize it so that she can know it for herself.

"I think…" she begins hesitantly, "from the beginning, Alice fed my ego."

She pauses, and I wait.

"I've always felt like I have to put on my best face, the best side of me, even for my husband when I was married; the way I'd been doing all of my life, with all of my relationships."

 _Self-awareness, by leaps and bounds. WIN! Step forward!_

"Go on."

"Alice allowed me to take the lead, to be the mentor, the one in charge; at least," she snorts, "that's what I thought." Bella rakes a hand through her pretty, new bob. "In reality, she was studying me, observing my life; though, I still don't know why."

 _Another step back._

Here, I must speak.

"I think…you're mostly correct, but please don't discount your leadership abilities or your ability to be a mentor simply because someone took advantage of the fulfillment that role gave you. As to why Alice Cullen (the whore) may have been studying you and observing you, the answer might be as simple as it sounds. Envy."

Bella snorts in a self-deprecating manner. "Envy what, my weaknesses? My inability to have a child?"

 _See why cognitive awareness is a life-long endeavor? Two steps forward, one step back; everyone; always._

"Bella, some women have so much going for them: financially, career-wise, education-wise, families, etc., yet inside, they still feel empty. The reasons for this are as varied as are personalities, and in this room, it's not our job to explore the motivation of others. Yet, it's how we as women choose to fill those voids which either empowers or weakens us. Alice Cullen (the whore) chose to go beyond emulation, and she crossed a line into envy. Then, she crossed a further line. That doesn't make her stronger than you in _any_ way; it makes her weaker."

"And my infertility as compared to her fertility?"

It's my turn to pause for a moment. This is a topic she rarely broaches, and she's brought it up twice in one session. I have to make sure I approach it with the sensitivity yet forthrightness it deserves.

"We haven't touched much on the subject of your fertility."

"You mean my infertility," she corrects.

"Your medical records indicate you're not necessarily infertile, Bella."

"No. My eggs are just hard-headed, literally, which kind of makes it difficult to make a baby in the biblical manner." She sighs, and when she next speaks, it's barely above a whisper. "My ex-husband and I spent tens of thousands of dollars on in vitro, and…nothing."

"Bella-"

"The point is, Doc, I don't want to transfer my shitty modus operandi to another man now."

Ahh, so here's the heart of today's session. She's scared about her growing feelings for Edward; elated, but so damn scared. Yet, she doesn't see what this acknowledged fear actually means!

I suppose, once more, my prolonged silence makes Bella suspicious. She turns again and finds me grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"Isabella Swan," I chuckle, "let me point out a few things to you because they're just too wonderful not to point out." I enumerate each with a finger. "You're making friends, you're flirting, you're kissing, you're bringing up subjects you used to completely shut me down on. And now…Bella, don't you see? The fact that you recognize so much of your coping process was a modus operandi is a _huge_ win!"

"Yay, I recognize I have a bend toward codependency. Huge win for me, indeed."

"Let me tell you why I abhor that term. Both men and women can get stuck in a frame of mind where their happiness depends on another, yet the term tends to judge and classify women for a modus operandi which has been thrust upon us since the dawn of ages."

Bella lies perfectly still, and I lean forward.

"Bella, this is why, while I'd never suggest you should be thankful to Jasper and Alice for what they did, I _have_ said their betrayal gave you an opportunity to stop, breathe, examine, and study yourself in a way many women never stop to examine and study themselves."

"Then how do I stop this from being my modus operandi when…when if I'm being honest, Doc, I already see Edward as an important person in my life, and it's beginning to scare the hell out of me. My morning runs with him, our coffee breaks, our texts…that kiss…they're the best part of my day. And even the fact that I _know_ something's off, the fact that he's told me himself that he's got something huge to tell me…not even that makes me stop looking forward to seeing him. I…don't want to set myself up like that, the way I did with Jasper, all over again."

Sigmund, baby, help me find the right words here.

"Alright, honey, it's metaphor time."

When she groans, I chuckle.

"Consider that you've been napping for the past year, Bella. Sometimes we need a nap, right?"

"Yes," she moans suspiciously.

"Our day becomes too hectic, and our bodies and minds need a few minutes of rest. So, we close our eyes and rest for a bit. But when you nap, Bella, do you set an alarm?"

"Not usually, no."

"Alarms tend to jar us out of our sleep before we're ready. No; with naps, we're usually woken by a combination of internal and external stimuli. Internally, our bodies and minds are ready; they've rested enough, recovered sufficiently so that an external voice suddenly penetrates that state of mind between sleep and wakefulness, or we suddenly sense movement around us, or a certain scent permeates the air around us, or a bright light fills our heavy eyelids."

"Or a touch jolts us back into the world of the living," Bella breathes.

"Yes. Perhaps…perhaps Edward is your external stimuli; the one which wakes you either because his volume is louder, his music better, his light brighter, his touch more stimulating. Bella, there's nothing wrong with allowing people to be important in your life, to allow that their voice is a little bit louder, that you're attuned to their movements a little more than to others, that their scent is more pleasing, their light a little bit brighter, and their touch a bit more stimulating. It's wonderful to have that one or two or three or whatever number of people who are important. But when you allow your life to be filled by so much more, allowing _one_ to be most important doesn't feel as frightening."

"So, don't ignore other parts of my life to the exclusivity of just one person."

"There's a whole world out there, Bella. Not everything is red or green, not everyone is an asshole or an idiot, and Life isn't fair but neither is it unfair. It's unpredictable, and so we must always be preparing for it. Does that make sense?"

"It makes a little more sense every day."

OOOOO

"My phone is just blowing up lately."

Sitting on the Clearwaters' leather couch with my legs propped under me, I grinned at the sight of Edward's laughing face. It was Monday night. We'd texted back and forth a bit over the past few days, but this was the first time Edward actually Facetimed me. We talked for a long time. I told him about my week so far, about Makenna, Maggie, and I mentioned Brady. I told him how we all had plans to get together again during the week, about my thoughts and reflections as I jogged alone, and about how great my writing was going. In turn, Edward shared with me the first day of his conference, about jogging alone around Atlanta, the sights he saw, and he teased me about how busy my social calendar had gotten overnight.

"What did I tell you about your attention being in high demand?"

He sat across the hotel room's bland, beige couch, which was set against a bland, beige wall, and I smiled to myself at how, in something as simple as a ratty tee shirt and sweats, he contrasted with all the drabness.

"It feels good to be in demand, Edward," I shrugged, holding the phone close so I could see him clearly…so that he could see me clearly in my tank top and shorty shorts. After all, over a month of exercise had worked some magic on my muscle tone, and as Dr. Rose reminded me, there was nothing wrong with a little self-pride.

"I feel…like I'm waking up from a long nap."

Edward chuckled. "That's a good metaphor."

"It's Dr. Rose's. I can't take credit for it," I grinned.

Edward swallowed. "Bella, I'm so glad to hear you're having a good week. Though, I miss seeing your face in person," he whispered.

"I miss seeing yours too," I admitted.

"And I want to touch that pretty, new bob so badly," he grinned. Yet, the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"There's a wall, right there," I said, gesturing with my hand, "and for once, I don't think it's me throwing it up."

"It's not you," he acknowledged, shaking his head. "Not at all. It's all me. God, I can't wait to see you on Friday." He frowned.

"See, you say that, but then you look like someone preparing for the guillotine. I wish you would just tell me-"

"I _should've_ just told you last time we were together. But now…over the phone…" he shook his head miserably, "not over the phone."

"Are you sure you're not married?" I smirked.

He shook his head.

"Did you kill someone?"

He snorted. "No. Not yet."

Our conversation paused while we simply took one another in.

"Can I ask you something personal?" he asked.

"You can ask. It doesn't mean I'll answer."

"Fair enough. Has your ex-husband bothered you again?"

I frowned. "No."

"Good," he sighed. "I've been a bit…worried."

"My frickin' hero," I smirked, making him chuckle.

"Fucking creeper."

"Yeah," I agreed. "He is. But I seem to attract the type."

When he frowned darkly, I laughed and laughed.

"Bella…I wish I was there with you."

"I…sort of do too."

"Do you know how great it is to hear you admit that?"

"Do you know how hard it is to admit it when I'm not drunk?"

Edward's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Never mind," I snorted.

Again, that miserably guilty expression spread across his face.

"If you allow me, I promise you, I've got you, Bella."

I groaned, fisting my hair. "I just got the strangest sense of- All right, this is getting a bit too cryptic for me, and you need to be up early. So maybe we should say good night?"

He smiled softly, apologetically. "Hey, have a good night and a good day, okay?"

"You too, Edward. Good night."

OOOOO

" _I tried! I tried my hardest to be a good wife, a good friend."_

" _I'm sure you did. But if we're here right now, they obviously weren't worth your effort."_

" _Edward, you asshole. Why the hell are you comforting her?"_

" _Because you're still a little kid who can't keep her damn hands out of the- Shh. I've got you."_

" _I didn't deserve this, just like my dad didn't deserve it when my mom did this."_

" _Jasper, what the hell is she talking about?"_

" _Uh…"_

" _Shh. It'll be okay. This dude, Jasper? Your piece of shit husband? He's not worth your tears. Come on."_

" _Yeah, get her out of here, Edward! She's a fucking maniac! A fucking lunatic who belongs in the loony bin! Jasper and I would've eventually spoken to her like adults, kept it friendly-"_

" _Friendly? FRIENDLY?!"_

" _Bella, don't listen to- Ow, fuck. My nose. It's all right, Bella, but the cops are right outside. Please come here. If you allow me, I promise, I've got you."_

" _She said friendly! FRIENDLY? FUCK FRIENDLY!"_

" _No, Bella, No. I've got you; I promise…"_

" _I've got you; I promise…"_

I gasped wildly as I woke.

OOOOO

Thursday afternoon after my morning jog, some writing, and a bath, Gianna texted me to see if I wanted to meet her for lunch again. When I agreed enthusiastically, she gave me the address. Fixing my hair, putting on some lipstick, and throwing on a plush sweater, I left my apartment with a skip in my steps and a smile across my glossy lips.

When I emerged from the elevator, my heart dropped to my feet.

For a few seconds, we simply glared at one another.

"I'm not even going to ask how you know where I live because apparently, it's the world's worst kept secret. But if I'm not allowed around you, that doesn't give _you_ the right to come-"

"So Jasper _has_ been here," she said through gritted teeth.

"You need to leave before _I'm_ the one who calls the cops."

" _I_ didn't call the cops that day, Bella," she spat. "Security called them because you were screaming and hitting and threatening and breaking things like a goddamn-"

"You may not have called them, but you were sure happy-go-lucky when they arrived. Alice, get the hell-"

"I'm just here to talk to you, Bella," she cut me off. "If you call the cops, what with the restraining order but the fact that I'm the one here, we'll both have a lot to explain. Yet you're the one with the record, and I'm the one with a baby to go home to, so think twice."

I flinched, trying my hardest not to either howl in pain or punch her in the face because her words cut me to the quick…and were true.

"I swear to God, Alice," I said, choking on my traitorous, shaking voice, "if you don't leave-"

"My dad came to see me a few days ago." She paused, swallowed, glared at me through eyes full of hatred and distrust as if _I_ was the one who'd ruined our friendship by fucking _her_ husband.

"What the hell does your father's visiting you have to do with me?"

"He told me I shouldn't trust Jasper, but he wouldn't tell me why."

"And how's that my issue?"

She snorted, shaking her head, her blond, salon-styled waves cascading over her Burberry-covered shoulders.

"They say 'Once a cheater, always a cheater, right?"

My heart raced. "Yes, I've heard that," I nodded slowly and shrugged, "though again, what does any of that have to do with me?"

"Just tell me if he's been to see you, Bella?"

"First of all, I don't have to _just tell you_ a damn thing. If you have questions about Jasper's whereabouts when he's out of your sight, ask him."

She shook her head from side to side, her top lip curling into a snarl. "You know what? Never mind. I forgot what a bitter bitch you are. No. Jasper wouldn't come to you." She pointed a well-manicured finger at me. "He wouldn't do that to _me_ ," she stressed, pointing the finger back at herself. "My father and my brother hate him, and they're trying to turn me against him by making vague suggestions and accusations. The fact that they won't give me details is proof that they're lying. The fact that my brother won't even-"

"Alice, I have no fucking clue nor interest in what you're talking about. I don't know your father or brother or anything about them. You never shared much about yourself beyond basics, did you?" I snorted. "I have no idea why a discussion with your father and your brother would lead you to my door."

My temples pounded - abruptly, all of a sudden; like two violent, inner thuds so acute they threatened to double me over. The blows were like savage, primordial attempts to jolt my brain, to bring every thought, every memory, both conscious and subconscious, to the surface.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right," Alice sneered, thankfully unaware of my sudden disorientation. "There was no point in my coming here and involving _you_ in our lives as if Jasper would ever come to you, as if he'd ever want _you_ back."

Some part of me wanted to goad her, to hurt her, to cause her even a fraction of the mental anguish she'd caused me by telling her that Jasper actually had come around – twice.

But the bigger part of me wanted her gone because with every passing second the throbbing in my head grew in intensity, became more brutal as a feeling of dread washed over me. It wrapped itself around my heart, threatened to choke me with its dizzying notion. Nausea settled like a brick in the pit of my stomach. Fight or flight took over.

"Then, if there was no point, go back home to your family and leave me alone."

Initial directions and plans forgotten, I turned back toward the elevator, which was thankfully waiting. But as I opened the door, my heart crashed against my ribcage and rose to my throat; it cut off my breaths. Even as I turned back toward Alice, even as I chose fight instead of flight, I knew I'd regret it with every successive breath.

"And tell your father and your brother…"

Alice held the vestibule door open, almost through it. At the sound of my voice, she instinctively stopped and turned, poised by the door as she took me in over her shoulder.

I swallowed. "…your brother…Edward, right?"

A lifetime transpired before she replied – a lifetime…or a fraction of a second.

"Yeah?"

My grip on the elevator door helped maintain my balance; kept my legs from folding. When I spoke, my voice was even and steady.

"Tell your father, your brother, your mother, Jasper, yourself, your kid, basically anyone and everyone by the name of Hale or Cullen to stay the fuck away from me because the next time any of you come near me, I _will_ call the cops, and we'll all deal with the consequences."

For one long moment, Alice glared at me. Then, with no acknowledgment one way or another, she walked through the vestibule door and out of my building. When she was no longer within sight, I walked into the elevator and waited for the door to close.

When it did, all my breath left me, and I sank to the floor.

 **A/N: Uhm…okay. Thoughts?**

 **I post teasers/comments/discussions on Facebook: Stories by PattyRose**

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" **See" you soon.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful angry, sad, happy, bewildered, despondent, excited, frightened, wary, etc. thoughts. :)**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are also mine.**

 **For those of you not on Facebook, just wanted to announce that once this story is complete, there will be a sequel from Edward's POV. ;)**

 **Break - Chapter 8**

* * *

 **Initial notes taken during unscheduled session between myself, Dr. Rosalie Lane-Stevens, and Isabella Swan, patient.**

I don't normally schedule sessions on Thursdays. My wife and I spend the day together with our professional brains – in Vera's case, her pediatrician brain – turned off. We only switch them on in cases of emergency.

Bella has experienced what I'd definitely term an emergency.

The call from her came in as Vee and I stood before a Union Square Farmers' Market stall debating whether red or white wine made a better pitcher of sangria.

Bella sighs. For the past ten minutes, she's sat on the couch across from me, silently staring into space and obviously spent from the preceding half hour of fury intermingled with choked sobs and interspersed with a jumbled narrative.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Rose," she murmurs, her voice raspy and hoarse. "It's your day off, and I probably pulled you away from something important, just to listen to my crap." She offers me a smile which is both apologetic and wistful.

Yes, it was an admittedly mundane debate in front of that farmers' market stall, yet it's the sort of debate which I wish someday for Bella.

I wish her something as commonplace as a late fall, hand in hand stroll with someone who at least attempts to deserve her.

I wish her a future full of laughter and kisses while picking out fresh fruit and vegetables, manchego cheese, serrano ham, brined olives, and red or white wine for a spontaneously planned tapas party among family and friends.

I wish her the enthusiasm of knowing that once those friends and family leave, she'll find herself in a pair of warm, loving arms, immersed in the quixotic contradiction that is a night of completely planned yet completely unpredictable lovemaking.

I wish her the sort of comfort which results from having a partner who, when one of those aforementioned emergencies does occur, smiles as she takes the bottles of red wine from you and kisses you softly as she sends you on your way.

I smile in return. "I wasn't doing anything I can't get back to later."

Bella offers me an empty nod before looking away again. She sits stiffly on the office couch instead of laying back comfortably. She's offered me a convoluted retelling of the tale, but I've had to piece much of it together. However, the salient point of the story comes through clearly:

Edward, the Yeti asshole, has betrayed her.

She's quiet again; and again, I wait. There's really nothing more I can do until I can gauge Bella's clinical state, which will guide my professional response. As initially noted during our first sessions, she's predisposed to depression. There may also be legal ramifications to contend with here. It's a clusterfuck of potentially epic proportions.

As I write this, Bella's limbs are stiff and tight, her hands in fists around the pillow she clutches to her chest, at turns as if it's armor, at turns as if she wants to choke the ever-living shit – or the filling – out of it. Her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, at turns staring, at turns glaring straight ahead; vacillating between heartache and fury.

Yes, in a way, I'm ushered back to our earliest sessions, but as these are my preliminary and unofficial notes, I'll be honest: Bella appears more furious than despondent. Although on the surface this might have all the markings of a setback to our earliest sessions or even a forewarning to complete loss of control, I personally don't believe today's Bella is the one of almost a year and a half earlier. I have faith in-

"Everything was a lie. Everything he said to me."

Then again, I might be wrong. I draw in a quiet breath and think through my words before I reply.

"Bella, as we've discussed, we can't control or sometimes even understand other people's intentions or motivations, much less their thoughts or emotions, which is why we must focus on our own emotions and develop strategies for _our_ -"

Bella holds up a hand between us. "Dr. Rose, please don't spout that cognitive behavioral psychoanalytical bullshit to me right now. Please, not now. I know you mean well, I really do, but I don't want to hear about emotional regulation or coping strategies. He _lied_ to me," she says through gritted teeth, choking back a sob. "Edward lied to me."

She hangs her head, her chin resting on the pillow (which is again armor), and her shoulders shaking. One solitary tear spills onto the pillow's plush surface.

"All the signs were there, and I ignored them," she whispers. But then, once again, her pain appears to morph into anger. "He knew my name from the very beginning and pretended he got it off my coffee cup, and like an idiot, I bought it."

"Believing him doesn't make _you_ an-"

"He knew where to find me; every morning, he asked me what I was up to, asked about my writing, about my plans for the future, hung around me pretending interest in _me_ when all along…" she chokes, "all along, he was just gathering information…fucking _spying_ on me."

"Bella-"

Her head shoots up, dark eyes burning. "The last time I saw him, the morning he kissed me, he knew Jasper's name. I didn't catch it at first because I was so taken in by him and by the performance he put on, feigning some really fucking fierce concern and protectiveness." She snorts. "So, when it did hit me, I told myself I must've mentioned it at some point, right? I just didn't remember." With every word she speaks, she squeezes that pillow tighter and tighter.

"Bella-"

"God, what a fucking idiot I was, and don't tell me I wasn't, Doc." Her hands slide through her crown, and she fists her hair. "He must've laughed his ass off every night. He must've-"

"All right, Bella, I'm going to stop you now."

She looks up and meets my gaze through startled, and yes, wary and distrustful eyes. And fuck, I'd be lying if I didn't say that therapist or not, if I had Edward Cullen in front of me right now…

"Listen carefully, and please don't take this in any manner, shape, or form to mean that I'm condoning or defending Edward's actions because I am _not_ ," I stress. "What he did was clearly a violation of your privacy and your trust, at the very least. He knew who you were yet for months he allowed you to believe he was someone wholly unconnected to your situation."

"Yes!" she says, obviously relieved I'm not attempting to downplay the seriousness of Edward's actions. "Yes, Doctor Rose!"

"And you deserve to feel your pain and anger completely, but-"

"No! No buts, Doctor!"

"There are a couple of 'buts.'"

"No, there aren't! He was _there_ , Doctor Rose! He knows _everything_ that happened, first-hand. He pulled me off of my husband to make sure I didn't come anywhere near his precious sister, and then over a year later, he showed up again pretending he was never there, taking advantage of the fact that I had a fucking breakdown and couldn't remember him. He pretended he wanted me when all along he just wanted to make sure his sister's baby daddy wasn't off fucking around with me. Do you know how mortifying that is? I told him things…things I would've never shared with him had I known…I mean, do you have _any_ idea?"

She's yelling now, raking and fisting her hair again; and again, I give her time.

"Okay," I murmur softly when she calms a bit. "As I was saying, I have no intention of defending Edward. Not at all. You have every right to your pain and anger toward him." I lean forward and wait for her to meet my gaze. " _But_ Bella, there are a couple of things, which as your therapist, and as someone who cares about _you_ ," I stress, "I need to ensure; among them are your emotional and physical well-being."

"I'm not going to hurt myself, doctor, if that's your concern," she says quietly yet honestly. "If I never considered it after last year's situation, I wouldn't consider it now. Nor do I plan to hunt Edward down to beat the shit out of him, though he deserves it."

I exhale under my breath, mentally – and gratefully – checking those off.

"Thank you for providing those directly. Nonetheless, there's more I'd like to discuss related to your emotional well-being, and we'll come back to that, but moving on to your physical well-being, this situation with Jasper, Alice, and Edward may be one which needs to be looked at from a legal standpoint as well as other standpoints. Bella, if Edward was indeed following and tracking you-"

" _If?"_ she repeats incredulously. "He was glued to my ass for the past couple of months!"

"Well, there's the possibility, as misguided and recklessly imprudent as it sounds, that he actually liked your-"

Something vibrates. Bella pulls her phone out of her bag, her upper lip curling into a dark snarl.

"Speak of the fucking devil." Before I can confirm my suspicions regarding who's just been stupid enough to text her, Bella reads off the message. Her voice, as she reads, is laced thickly with the sort of indignant cynicism I thought we'd left behind.

"' **Hey, Bella. I've called you a couple of times. No answer. Everything okay? Just wanted to make sure all's good with you. I'd also like to finalize our plans for tomorrow night. Can't wait to see you again.'"**

"The nerve of the mother…" Her thumbs start moving furiously over her phone's keypad.

"Bella, wait, wait. Before you send out a reply, perhaps you should stop and think of how you want to-"

As she types, she reads out her message. **"'Asshole, the next time you call, text, or make any sort of contact with me, you'll regret it.'** "

"Bella-"

Her pointer finger digs into the keypad before I can say more, and she flings her phone back into her bag.

"Fucking asshole," she says, her words spat through clenched teeth. "I knew it." She shakes her head. "Assholes or idiots. Everybody. There is no in-between."

"Bella hon, let's be careful what you put in writing to Edward. We have no idea whether you can trust him with-"

"I _can't_ trust him! That's the whole point, Doc!"

For a few moments, we're both silent. She stares straight ahead again, chest heaving, nostrils flaring. Another lone tear skims her cheek, and she swipes at it furiously. Her legs bounce. I get the feeling that regardless of how much time I'm willing to dedicate to her today, Bella won't sit still in this office much longer. That's yet another difference between today's Bella and the one who was forced into therapy almost a year and a half earlier. That Bella lost control and was then emotionally paralyzed by her pain.

"Bella, we've spoken about how not everyone is a complete asshole or a complete idiot; most are in-between. Not everything is red or green, and it's _our_ response to outside triggers which either weaken or empower us."

Her phone vibrates again, continuously this time – a call.

Bella pulls the phone out of her bag. "He's trying to call me. Well, he's got balls; I'll give him that." Shoving the phone back in her bag, she returns her attention to me, a cynical grin across her face.

"So we're summarizing the past fourteen months' worth of therapy in a nutshell, huh?"

"Basically, yes," I admit and lean forward. "Because I need you to remember it all _right now_ ," I say firmly, bouncing my pointer finger on my leg, "before you leave this office. Bella, you've been preparing for this for over a year-"

Her phone vibrates again, a short vibration. Bella pulls the phone out of her bag and sneers down at it.

"' **Bella, please pick up the phone. Please allow me to explain.'"**

Her thumbs fly over the keyboard.

"' **Fuck. Off.** '" She enunciates the words clearly, then throws her phone back in her bag.

"I've been preparing for _this_?" she snorts sardonically. Her phone vibrates again before I can reply, but this time, Bella ignores it.

"Not for this specifically, Bella; for _Life_ and all which it encompasses."

"You mean one betrayal after another?" There's more than a challenge in her tone.

"Yes, betrayals. Betrayals, disappointments in romantic interests, learning that someone you thought was wholly unrelated to one of your worst days is in actuality completely related to it, learning he may have had ulterior motives in befriending you…growing up Daddy's girl to a bigoted man who lost his shit when you told him you were a lesbian, having your heart broken by the first woman you fell in love with when she cheated on you and watching your dad rejoice in it, going back to men because you wanted to please your daddy, and then finally finding yourself and telling Daddy to fuck off, and falling in love with someone who isn't perfect but is perfect for you, having more family who loves and accepts you exactly how you are. Bella…" I say fiercely, "Life is a mixed bag. You've been betrayed again, but you have a loving father, you've begun making what can be great lifelong friendships, you've rediscovered your writing and taken it in a whole new direction from what it was before, you've found interests in exploring your neighborhood, in thoughts of travel, in exploring _your_ interests as opposed to those of others."

A series of silent tears roll down her cheeks. Again, her phone vibrates. I pause, but she ignores the vibration.

"This latest betrayal is one event, yet I won't downplay it and say it's insignificant in the grand scheme of things because it's obviously a big event But Life has prepared you for this. Life isn't fair-"

"But it isn't unfair," she says quietly, and I can't tell from her tone if she's merely repeating it by rote or if she agrees.

"Betrayals, disappointments, and lies are a part of Life, just as are trust, joy, and truth, and _everything_ in-between. You've awoken, Bella; you've come out of your nap, and with waking come all sorts of experiences and encounters, both good and not so good. As we've discussed throughout our sessions, we won't always understand the motivations of others, which is why that _can't_ be our focus. Don't spend your days and nights picturing Edward laughing at you. It's _your_ motivations, your emotions, your Life which you need to understand, to focus on, and to cope with."

The phone vibrates. She looks down at her bag, but she doesn't retrieve her phone.

" _He_ hurt me," she whimpers. "I was beginning…I was beginning to care for him...to picture a future where…" She swallows and shakes her head.

"I know," I say because I do know. "But this is why you need to always be prepared, so that your pain doesn't take over, so that you never again find yourself overpowered by a situation. _Feel_ your anger and your pain, Bella-"

The phone vibrates. Mother _fucker_.

"And then cope with it. You have the tools to get past this. Don't allow it…don't allow one person who lied to you to destroy your progress. Undo what we women are taught as our modus operandi. Turn to all those strategies we've learned; exercise, meditation, self-awareness, and the distraction supplied by friends and family."

"Don't ignore other parts of my life to the exclusivity of just one person – for good or for bad."

"Yes, Bella," I breathe. "Yes."

"It's easier said than done."

The phone vibrates.

"It is," I agree.

OOOOO

After I left Doctor Rose's office, I walked the city streets for a while. It was cold, October day, with gray skies and the promise of rain, which caused a frenzy all around me. People rushed to and fro, hoping to reach their destinations before the first drop fell. A man argued with another over a cab, idling at the curb. A small gathering of people crushed one another in an attempt to board the bus first. The first drops fell, and I stood there, watching it all, ignoring my vibrating phone. Then, I descended into the subway station.

Seated on the crowded number six, I pulled out my phone and pretended I didn't see his name as I replied to another text.

 **Bella, I waited for a half hour, but I had to get back to work. Hope all is okay. Text me when you can, alright?**

 **Gianna, I'm so sorry. I had a bit of an emergency-**

As I typed my message, another text notification appeared above it:

 **Bella, I should've told you the truth from the very beginning. Please-**

I swiped it up and away, and continued my reply to Gianna.

 **but I'm fine.**

I set the phone back in my bag and watched the man seated across from me eating a sandwich. My phone vibrated.

 **No problem, Bella! Just relieved to hear from you. Are you sure you're okay? I was worried.**

Another message notification popped up as I read Gianna's message:

 **I made a mistake. I was wrong. I know I was. Please answer-**

I swiped it away and kept reading Gianna's message:

 **Let me know if you need me, okay? Do you want to reschedule? Get together this weekend at some point?**

I typed out a reply to Gianna:

 **G, I'm fine, I promise. Getting together this weekend sounds good. Any ideas?**

Another notification:

 **I wanted to tell you so many times. I swear I did. I was going to tell you tom-**

I put the phone away. When it vibrated, I considered not pulling it out of my bag. But…I wouldn't allow him that power over me.

 **I'm so sorry. I never meant for it to get this out of hand. I never meant to hurt you. Please, Bella. Answer your phone.**

I quickly switched over to the other notification that popped up:

 **Hey, B, what ya doing? Stopping by for sushi tonight?**

 **Hey, Makenna. Sure. Sushi sounds great. Mind if I invite a friend?**

 **I deserve all your anger. I know I do. Please, just pick up the-**

 **Of course not! See you guys tonight.**

 **Bella, please. I don't deserve for you to hear me out, but please pick up.**

 **Actually, G, you want to go out for sushi tonight? I promise I won't stand you up this time. :)**

 **LOL. Yesss! Let me know where and what time. See you later, Bella!**

OOOOO

After a while, he stopped calling and texting.

That afternoon, I ran errands, and then I forced myself to sit at my laptop and write, even if what came out at first was total dribble. But I'd read somewhere that a true writer writes even when she doesn't feel inspired. So, I wrote.

I took a long shower, stood under the hot spray watching my fingers prune the way they used to when I was a little girl and Dad took me to the shore. Then, I shut my eyes and raised my face to the water.

" _Bella? I think this is yours. I heard you order it."_

"Sure you did," I whispered against the hot spray.

" _I swear I'm not following you. We just happen to be headed in the same direction."_

"Sure we were."

" _Bella, I'm sorry for whatever happened that's forced you into court-mandated therapy."_

"Sure you were."

" _Have you been living around here all this time?"_

"As if you didn't know."

" _What are you working on?"_

" _What does that mean?"_

" _Do you miss him?"_

" _Let's be running buddies."_

" _What are you writing?"_

" _Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"_

" _Do you still have feelings for him?"_

The water ran cold, and I shut it off and stepped out.

OOOOO

Makenna texted me as I was getting ready to step out.

 **Hey, do you mind if Brady joins us tonight? He just texted me to see what we're doing tonight. I know he likes you, but I know you've got a boo, so I can easily make something up. No biggie. :)**

I must've stood there, indecisive, for five minutes before I finally replied.

 **I don't mind at all Makenna.**

When the phone vibrated again, at first, I thought it was Makenna once more.

With a deep breath, I picked up. He was perfectly silent on the other line. Only our mutual breaths filled the air waves.

"So much insistence, yet when I pick up, you have nothing to say."

"I…" his voice had a strange, high-pitch to it, like a nervous twelve-year-old boy in the midst of puberty. "I think I'd given up on you actually answering."

"Then why keep calling, Edward?"

"Bella…" he breathed raggedly, swallowing, always playing the game so well, "can we please meet somewhere and-"

"No. I only picked up to tell you to please leave me alone. You had your fun, now stop it."

"It's not what you think," he said hoarsely.

I swallowed against the sting in my throat, glaring hard at the city lights sparkling like diamonds through the Clearwaters' large, floor-to-ceiling windows, eyes wide open to keep the tears at bay. A vague recollection tickled the corners of my mind, something about why we'd been waiting until Friday night to meet. But fury and the ache of betrayal clouded every other space in between.

"I don't care how you frame it, Edward," I said when I could finally regulate myself. "I don't care that she's your sister and you wanted to protect her. And I totally meant it when I told her that I'd call the cops if you kept harassing me, so-"

"Bella, I have no idea what you told her or what she told you. I don't speak to her."

"Bullshit."

"Bella, I've lied to you," he said in a rush, "I know I have, but I-"

"I don't want to hear any explanations or justifications," I hissed. "You lied to me, you used me, and that's all there is to it. Now-"

"I didn't use you. I would _never_ -"

"Look, I only picked up to tell you to leave me alone. You got the information you wanted, you passed it on to Alice-"

"What? Bella, I told you; I don't even speak to Alice," he insisted.

"However it worked isn't the issue. You spoke to your father, who apparently went back and-"

"Yes. Yes, I spoke to my father. I admit that. I spoke to him to inform him I was pursuing a relationship with you, and that if Jasper didn't stay the fuck away from you, I was going to-"

"Edward, I don't care. I don't care," I said, my voice shaking despite my efforts. I fisted my hair, grounding myself. "I can't do this. You're her brother-"

"Bella, I can't help who I'm related to."

"No, but you could've _told_ me, Edward!" I broke. "You could've been up front with me instead of spying on me! Instead of pretending you knew nothing, when you were there! What kind of sick, twisted game-"

"I wasn't spying on you, and it wasn't a game!"

"She didn't screw me over enough? _You_ had to finish the job?"

"Jesus," he said, his voice strangled.

For a lone while, we were both quiet.

"I'm hanging up-"

"I was going to tell you," he whispered, his voice rough and ragged, his explanations convoluted. "From the very beginning, I meant to tell you. But you didn't recognize me, and I should've…but the second I hesitated and allowed you to believe I was a complete stranger… Bella, I knew I fucked myself over, and every time I saw you it just got harder and harder to come clean."

"So you chose to lie to me, to play this game instead."

"Every day, I fell for you more and more. I think I began falling-"

"Am I supposed to believe that? Do you really think I'm still that gullible?" I snorted incredulously. "That even after finding out you were lying to me, that you were there, that you're _her_ brother, I'd still believe that you _care_ about me?"

"I do care about you. So damn much. And you know, deep inside, you know I do. If you don't believe anything else, and if you remember that I was there-"

"All I remember is that you tried to keep me away from her."

"Jesus, Bella, that's not what I was doing. It had nothing to do with her or with your bastard husband."

"Edward, I don't believe a word that's coming out of your mouth. And if you really have an ounce of respect for me, you won't contact me again."

"Please don't ask me for that."

I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowed back my tears, and steeled myself.

"I don't want to see you again. Even if half of what you're saying is true, I can never trust you. There can _never_ be anything between us."

"If I'd told you who I was, you would've never given me the time of day." His voice cracked.

"You're right. You're absolutely right, and that right there should've kept you away from me."

"I couldn't stay away. I wasn't following you," he murmured. "Our chance encounter in that coffee shop was exactly that: a chance encounter. But I saw it as more."

"More?" I snorted.

"I saw it as a sign that maybe now…Bella, don't you remember-"

I growled. "Stop it! Stop this! Stop playing your fucking mind games! I remember everything I need to remember! Don't call me again, Edward! Don't look for me! If you respect me at all, you'll leave me alone! And you'll respect the decision that I don't want _anything_ to do with you or your family _ever_ _again_!"

An eternity of silence spread between us. After what could've been a minute or an hour for all I knew, he spoke.

"I do respect you. I respect you more than I've ever respected anyone. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did this so wrong, and I'm _so_ damn sorry I hurt you," he choked, "because you're the last person in the world I _ever_ want to see hurt again."

I held back a whimper.

"Then…goodbye, Edward."

Moments turned to seconds.

"Goodbye, Bella."

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **Facebook (story pics, teasers, discussions, etc.): Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

" **See" you soon. :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts. Seriously, they're all so varied and wonderful. I enjoy them all so much.**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine as well.**

 **Break – Chapter 9**

* * *

 **One year later: October**

" _What's wrong with her?"_

" _They had to sedate her."_

" _They had to what?" There's barely suppressed fury in that inquiry. It burns so fiercely it sears its way in between the thick haze overwhelming my every sense._

" _She was overexcited, to say the least. It was the only way to calm her."_

" _The only way…?" The outrage in the voice grows…deepens…_

" _You know, you really should have that nose looked-"_

 _And the stewing anger boils over._

" _She's fucking handcuffed to the hospital bed like she's a goddamn criminal, and you want to discuss my nose. I mean, what the hell do you expect? From what I got, she caught her husband bare-assed to the window, screwing your goddamn daughter."_

" _Jesus. Calm down before you wake her and get her all riled again. You're not even supposed to be in here."_

 _The retort is swift and indignant. "And you are? Chief-of-staff or not, I doubt your presence in this triage right now would fail to raise eyebrows considering who put her here."_

" _Son, she put herself in here, and I only stopped in to make sure she calmed down, for her own good. The woman is in enough legal trouble; I didn't want her making it worse for herself."_

" _And whose damn fault are all her present troubles?"_

" _I'm sure there's plenty of fault to go around."_

" _Bullshit. You know that's bullshit." The faceless voice now sounds as if it's erupting through clenched teeth. "There's only one person at fault here, and you fathered her, so I suppose that puts you at fault as well. And her bastard husband is at fault too for taking vows to love and cherish his wife and instead fucking her friend and then standing around while she taunted-"_

" _Jesus. Enough."_

" _I warned you! For years, I warned you that Alice was a self-centered, self-absorbed, narcissistic bi-"_

The vibrating phone rattled over the nightstand like a swiftly pounding war drum. It pulled me out of…a nebulous dream. For a second, an image danced in the recesses of my mind…a voice…

But the phone kept rattling and bouncing on the nightstand. I picked it up groggily, swiped without really looking.

"Hello?" I said, unable to suppress the yawn that followed.

"Bella? Bella Hale?"

That woke me. I sat up straight.

"No," I enunciated clearly. "This is Bella _Swan_. Who is this?"

"Bella! I thought that was you!" Mind still fogged by sleep, I couldn't be sure, but I thought I detected a note of forced cheerfulness in the somewhat familiar voice.

"It's Michael, Bella! Michael Newton. Your old boss."

OOOOO

" _With the flu season getting underway, experts at the CDC are predicting a tough year. It's a little-known fact that the production of flu vaccines begins six to nine months before the actual flu season begins. This means that the specific influenza viruses researched, predicted, and chosen for vaccination each year may not be the flu viruses we encounter when the true flu season begins."_

" _The preparation of vaccinations which will inoculate the general population against a specific season's strains of the flu virus is on average, I'd say…ninety-percent scientific research and ten percent chance. Unfortunately, some years those percentages fluctuate more toward chance. Because it does take six to nine months to produce sufficient quantities of the flu vaccine to be delivered to the public in time for the northern hemisphere's fall flu season, adjustments for late-presenting strains are difficult."_

My eyes remained unblinking as I watched the flat-screen TV hanging, which hung over the restaurant's bar. I felt a tightening in my chest, followed by a quickening of my heart rate. Other than that, I was pretty sure no one observing my rapt interest in a medical epidemiologist delivering a report on the upcoming flu season would find anything amiss.

" _Is that why some years it seems so many people get sick with the flu even after being inoculated?"_

" _That's exactly why, yes."_

The interviewer, a pretty news journalist in about her mid-twenties, offered the epidemiologist a rather misplaced giggle. When he didn't react, she cleared her throat.

" _So you're saying we should probably just skip this year's vaccine?"_

" _That's not what I'm saying at all, no. The CDC, along with the World Health Organization and several other worldwide collaborating centers send representatives like me around the world, for months at a time, to perform surveillance, collect specimens, and conduct clinical studies in order to develop the best possible inoculation. This year's inoculation does protect against other strains which were researched, predicted, and early in the season, are already presenting in the public. What I'm saying is that, unfortunately, there appears to be a new strain of the flu which has recently presented in the northern hemisphere, and it's a strain which we didn't include in this year's inoculation."_

"Don't get into specific strains," I murmured. "Don't get into specific-"

" _Specifically, we're talking Strain Number-"_

"Ugh," I groaned quietly. "You're going to lose half your audience now." A small, wistful smile tugged at my lips at the memory.

"I'm sorry, miss. Did you ask for another drink?" the bartender inquired.

"No. Thanks." I smiled at him and held my still mostly full margarita up for his inspection. "I'm just waiting for a couple of friends. They should be here soon."

"Okay." He offered me a nod in acknowledgment and turned his attention to the screen.

" _For example, a few years ago, the Flu Pandemic of 2009 introduced a new strain of H1N1 into the human population, and it was further broken down by…"_

The camera person, perhaps jokingly, zoomed in closely on the dazed and confused expression worn by the pretty, young journalist.

"Why do these doctors and scientists think the general public gives a crap about H1N1, B234, XYZ11, and so on. Just give us a damn vaccine that works and keep the scientific mumbo jumbo to yourself."

"I suppose," I found myself saying after a handful of seconds. "But, I suppose some of them are passionate about what they do, and that passion spills over."

"I guess."

The bartender picked up the remote, and before he switched the channel over to something more relatable to the general public, the camera panned back to the passionate epidemiologist, and I caught one last glimpse of him…of Edward.

OOOOO

"Vera wanted me to tell you she's so sorry she couldn't meet us for lunch," Rose said. She removed her wrap and situated it on the back of the chair.

"That's okay." I smiled. "What happened?"

"She received an emergency call. One of her patients, a four-year-old little girl broke her arm climbing a tree at the playground. Vera is meeting the family at the clinic."

"Aww. Poor baby. Those are the dangers of climbing trees, I guess."

Across the table from me, Rose's expression was even more empathetic. As my therapist, her ability to empathize, to care, and to love had seeped into every single one of our sessions. Eight months after my court-mandated therapy was complete, as my friend, those characteristics shone through in all our interactions, with no filter.

In order to maintain professionalism and avoid any ethical concerns, I'd waited six months after my therapy was complete to contact Doctor Rose on a personal basis. I'd missed her in the months in between, of course. But, our sessions equipped me with the necessary tools to continue with my life without our weekly therapy. I had interests which were all my own. I had an apartment I shared with Makenna. I had a job at a small writing studio in Tribeca. I had friends. And now, for the past couple of months, I had Rose _and_ Vera.

Nevertheless, I knew now how important it was to maintain mental health. I'd learned and accepted that therapy is a life-long process, especially when you're prone to bouts of depression. There was the very real possibility that someday, I'd need to speak to a therapist again. By befriending Rose, I'd eliminated her as my therapist forever. But I treasured her as a friend.

"Yeah, I suppose those things happen," Rose said.

As she spoke, she subconsciously rubbed her belly around and around – five months along and still flat to my eyes. And though the sight of a pregnant woman would likely always cause a twinge of wistfulness for something I'd probably never experience…I had so many other things in my life. And I loved Rose and Vera too much not to rejoice in their quick success with invitro.

"But I bet you and Vera won't let it happen, right?" I teased.

"Hell no," Rose grinned, gazing down at her flat stomach. "Don't worry, Baby Beck. Mommy and Mommy won't ever let you climb a tree and break a limb."

"Ooh, you're both going to be _fun_ moms." I rolled my eyes, and we both laughed.

"I'm kidding, Bella. No matter our good intentions," she grinned, "sometimes we all make mistakes, right?"

I drew in a breath and swallowed. Rose was a great therapist, but as friends now, we made a concerted effort not to fall into a patient/therapist pattern. Oh, we shared and spoke about everything and anything under the sun, but there was no analyzing between us. What's more, she was great at what she did, but even Rose couldn't know where my head had been all morning…since the dream which I couldn't really recall…since the phone call which reminded me of that period of my life…since the TV screen.

"Bella?"

I chuckled and picked up my menu, scanning it as I spoke. "Guess who called me this morning?"

Out of my periphery, I saw her do the same. "Who?"

"Do you remember my old boss, my editor at _The High Line_ , Michael Newton?"

"Ahh. Michael Newton," she said in a neutral tone. "I do recall. To what did you owe that honor?"

I sighed and set down the menu. Rose did the same and met my eyes.

"He offered me my old job back."

Rose quirked an eyebrow.

"He said…" I drew in a breath and released it slowly. "He said things didn't work out with…Alice Cullen. I didn't ask what that meant, and he didn't offer more. He did say he was sorry for how things went down, and he asked me to acknowledge that my writing…my articles had become shit by the end."

Rose snorted. "Did you acknowledge that?"

"I did because it was the truth." I chuckled at Rose's forced bland expression.

"It's a bit of an oversimplification to how things occurred, though; isn't it? You were given no warning before your dismissal."

"It is an oversimplification," I agreed. "But as the events which followed made that entire situation moot anyway…" I shrugged. "He went on to offer me a fifty percent raise to what he was previously paying me, the return of my office, and a kick-ass benefits package."

Rose nodded slowly. "Sounds generous. And what did you say?"

I drew in another breath and released an audible sigh as my gaze panned to the restaurant's windows.

It was a gorgeous fall day in New York City. Across the street, the trees in Union Square Park shed their leaves; even as I watched, they slowly billowed in the breeze like a golden-toned rain shower. The fall sun had a different hue to it than that of every other season; it was more copper than yellow, and it shone brightly over gray and brown buildings, highlighting centuries-old architecture and bringing it back to life. The sun followed residents and tourists alike and fell on their backs, warming them as they rushed to and fro down city blocks and into subways.

It was the type of clear day which reminded me why I'd risked breaking my dad's heart when I told him, right before the Clearwaters' return from a one-hundred-and-eighty-day cruise around the world, that I'd be moving in with my friend Makenna instead of returning to Washington.

So many of my decisions were based on what I saw through windows.

"I told Michael that if there was a sort of writing apocalypse, where writing was suddenly forbidden and banned everywhere in the world, in every dark corner, in the smallest, private journal or for the largest publication, everywhere except at _The High Line_ , and if you got caught writing anywhere other than at _The High Line_ , whether it was inside a diary you kept hidden under a bed or for BBC Headquarters, you'd be burned at the stake..." I shook my head, "I still wouldn't write for _The High Line_."

All the while, Rose laughed and laughed, holding her flat stomach.

"And what did Michael reply to that?"

"He didn't." I shrugged again. "I think he hung up on me halfway through, which was pretty dumb of him because I could've been getting ready to say that if all those conditions held true, then I'd happily return to _The High Line_."

Rose dropped her head and banged the table repeatedly, chortling heartily. When she finally looked up, her eyes still sparkled with mirth.

"Good for you," she said succinctly.

"It would be a cold day in hell. Oh, damn. I forgot to add that condition."

Rose snorted.

We looked back at our menus.

"Though I do wonder…"

In my periphery, I saw her lift her eyes to me.

"You wonder?" she prompted.

"I had a strange dream last night."

It wasn't what I'd been planning to say; not exactly. And I had a feeling, as she and I held one another's gazes, that Rose knew it. It was a fine line we traversed as friends instead of patient/therapist.

"What did you dream?" she asked.

"I…don't really remember."

I looked back at my menu. "I'm not even sure it was a dream. It was like…voices in my head, snippets of some type of conversation, but I can't even remember well what the conversation entailed."

There was an incident Rose and I discussed once during therapy. It was the first conversation I heard, as a five-year-old, while I was supposed to be asleep. Through subsequent sessions, Rose helped me see how this one conversation followed me for the rest of my life. It had far-reaching consequences not only in the way I viewed my world, but also in what I recalled as dreams and what I recalled as reality; how, ever since that night, things I wasn't ready to recall got stuck in my head and labeled, 'dream.'

"I just know it left me feeling…not necessarily lost; more like nostalgic."

Rose sighed and set down her menu. It was a fine line indeed, neither one of us being able to return to that office setting with one another, but it was a fine line she and I were willing to walk for the sake of our friendship.

She rubbed her invisible baby-bump, and I laughed.

"You know," Rose grinned, "being pregnant now, it's brought back so much of my own childhood, which wasn't all bad," she added quickly,

"-but it wasn't all good, either," I finished for her. "A smart person once told me that Life isn't fair, but neither is it unfair."

"Sounds like a wise fucking person, indeed," she grinned impishly. "That's genius, nutshell, and true. But my point is, I've been thinking about things I haven't thought of in a while, some good and some bad. Major life events tend to do that, bring other stuff to the surface." She paused, held my gaze.

"And it's how you deal with it which either empowers or weakens you."

"Did that same wise person tell you that?" she asked.

"Yep."

"What a smart fucking bitch." I laughed, and she leaned in closer. "How are things with Brady, Bella?"

"They're good," I smiled. "He's a good guy. We have fun when we go out by ourselves or in a group. He's always up for anything. If we go out separately, that's fine as well. If we stay in, he does his thing while I submit my query letters and edit my novel. He doesn't hover over me…" I sighed, recalling a pair of green eyes which were always so interested in what I wrote, "or ask much about my writing – which is fine. There's no pressure to share all our interests or to spend all our time together. He complements my life without trying to become my life."

"I'm glad he's good for you," she murmured honestly. "And he's fucking hot too. Jesus."

I fell into a laughing fit so uproarious some of the diners around us scowled at me.

"What? At least I'm not asking if what they say about black men is true."

"You sort of just did," I smirked.

"And you sort of just answered," she snickered, banging the table again.

"I did not in any way answer." I shook my head in mock indignation. "And anyway, I thought you're not supposed to be interested in things like that?"

"Why, because I'm married? Because I'm pregnant?"

"No!" I shrieked. "Because you're a lesbian."

"Pfft." She rolled her eyes and leaned in close again. "Not to cross that line we're not supposed to cross by recalling conversations from our sessions, but I may have mentioned once how being a lesbian doesn't mean I can't appreciate the distraction of a good-looking man."

"You may have." I swallowed.

Rose's amusement faded into a soft grin. "But that may have been in relation to someone else."

"It might've been, yeah."

"So…this dream…"

"Brady wants me to go with him and his kids to the Bahamas for the holidays. He's got them over Christmas this year."

Rose's eyebrows shot up. "Wow," she breathed. "What did you say?"

"I said I wanted to think about it."

She nodded slowly. "That's…pretty significant."

"Well, we've been dating for a few months now."

"You haven't met his kids yet, right?"

"No," I murmured quietly. "The very first time Brady and I met, he made it pretty clear that his kids are the most important beings in his life, and anyone who shares his life has to love them as much as he does."

The waiter came and took our orders.

Rose waited for me to meet her gaze.

"Bella, it's understandable if you're having concerns about meeting his kids. It's a tall order," she chuckled, "to ask someone to love your kids as much as you do, and-"

"Rose, I'm not concerned that I wouldn't be able to love his kids… _so_ much," I stressed swallowing. "I'm probably never going to have kids of my own-"

"You don't know that, Bella."

"I sort of do. I tried invitro with my ex-husband, remember? It didn't work."

"There are new developments in the field all the time. And you're _not_ clinically infertile."

"I'm thirty-three, Rose."

"I'm thirty-eight, Bella," she snickered.

I chuckled and shook my head. "That's not…" I waved my hand, "that's a whole different issue. My point is, I don't fear I won't love them. I fear I'll fall head over heels in love with them, and then…"

"And then…?" Rose prompted after half a minute.

"And then?" I smiled. "That's exactly the question."

OOOOO

Afterward, we strolled arm in arm through the park, enjoying the cool breeze on our faces and the warmth of our friendship.

"All right, Bella," Rose said. The words shook a bit, which surprised me. "There's something Vera and I wanted to ask you together, but as I said, that little girl broke her arm-"

"Darn little girl," I smirked.

When she chuckled nervously, I stopped us and faced her. At first, fear shot through me that something was wrong with her pregnancy, but the huge yet somewhat apprehensive grin on her face dispelled those concerns at the very least.

"You can say no, hon," she said, her voice quivery. "You know I won't be hurt at all, and I don't want to hurt _you_ by asking you this, so I apologize up front if I'm being thoughtless and inconsiderate," she choked.

"Rose-" I said, concerned again, taking her hand.

"-but I can't think of anyone who I'd want more as…"

"Rose, since when are you indecisive with your words?" I teased. "What is it?"

"Will you be godmother to our baby?" she whispered.

I smiled broadly as silent tears streaked my cheeks. And then I pulled Rose in and hugged her fiercely.

"Sorry," I chuckled, loosening my hold a bit. "I don't want to hurt Baby Beck - my godchild."

Rose pulled away, grinning brilliantly.

"You're the closest thing I have to a true sister," I said, "which is why I risked never having you as my therapist again." I laid a palm on her flat belly. "There's no baby I'll ever love more than this one."

Rose chuckled, tears of happiness streaking her cheeks as well. "While I'd love for that to be true, Bella, I'll totally forgive you for being wrong about that on the day you have your own baby."

OOOOO

I met Brady the following evening. We were having dinner together at a new restaurant in the federal district downtown. It was an area not too far from Tribeca, but it might as well have been miles away. The more or less square-mile perimeter contained mainly federal buildings housing the government's various branches, which meant that by Friday evenings, the area was a veritable ghost town.

The restaurant was attractive, and the hostess was attentive and friendly as she greeted us and led us to our table – a small, cozy table for two not far from the restaurant's entrance but situated so that we avoided drafts from opening doors and foot traffic from those walking in. And the view from the glass-windowed wall out to the city lights illuminating the courthouses and neogothic-style municipal buildings was amazing.

"It's a nice place," I said after Brady pulled out my chair and took his seat. He looked good, as he always did, in dark slacks, a white button-down, and a gray tie that brought out his eyes.

"So far so good," Brady grinned. He took my hand over the table. "But I'm not sure how well they'll do in this area. There are tumbleweeds in the streets," he joked.

I laughed. "It's a pretty busy area during the week."

"Yeah, but the only people left around here on weekends are those who can't leave their work behind."

"Or who are very passionate about their work."

"I'm passionate about my job, but you won't find me in my office on a Saturday."

I smirked at him. "You're a teacher, Brady. The school is closed on Saturdays, and your office is a schoolroom."

He laughed. "You're right. You're right."

We looked over our menus, whose offerings appeared tasty. When the waiter came, we placed our order, and then shared wine and conversation as we waited.

"Rose and Vera asked me to be godmother to their baby today," I said, my words quivery from excitement and honor.

"Congratulations, babe." Brady smiled and clinked his goblet to mine. Then, he leaned in and brushed his lips against my lips. "That's quite an honor."

"I know. I can't wait. I mean, I was already excited about that baby, but now…"

"I know what you mean. It takes on a whole new meaning when the kid is going to be someone special to you." He squeezed my hand and cleared his throat. "So…speaking of special kids, have you given any thought to coming to the Bahamas with me and the kids?"

"I have," I grinned.

"And?" he prompted.

I don't know. I honestly don't know if I changed my mind when I saw him. I'd always intended to tell Brady that, while I _had_ given it some more thought, I still wasn't quite ready to answer. It was a big decision; an even bigger commitment. It was an acknowledgment that my relationship with Brady had moved beyond the exclusive-yet-still-somewhat-casual stage. So, it's not that my actual answer changed afterward. It was, perhaps, the reason for that answer.

At first, I saw him in my periphery. For those handfuls of seconds, before I followed my eyes and my instinct and whatever else compelled me to look, I was sure it _wasn't_ him. I mean, what were the fucking chances?

Yes; he worked for the government and we were in the federal district. But Edward and I hadn't seen or spoken to one another for almost a year, despite living in the same basic area of New York City. I'd found another coffee shop, other tracks for running. There were literally millions of people in New York City, and when you purposely avoid two or three, when you threaten them with legal action…when you ask one specific individual to leave you alone if he ever truly cared for you…

A handful of seconds stretched into two handfuls.

"Bella?" Brady asked, a curious frown on his forehead.

I drew in a breath and looked away from Brady.

He stood alone by the hostess station. In sweats and a hoodie, unlike the little black dress I wore and Brady's handsome attire, it didn't appear Edward was waiting for a table. One of the hostesses rushed forward, holding a plastic bag with the restaurant's name emblazoned on it, grinning broadly as she handed it over.

"Here you go, sir. Thanks for waiting and for your order. Is there anything else I may do for you?" she asked, and I could hear the hope in her voice from here.

Edward opened his mouth to reply. But then…I suppose he could feel someone's eyes on him, that tingle that rolls up your neck when you just know someone's watching you. His head slowly turned sideways, and his eyes met mine.

Our gazes only held for about three seconds, but three seconds can feel like a lifetime. On the last of those three seconds, a small smile lifted one corner of his mouth, and I swallowed…and smiled faintly in return.

He turned away and back to the eagerly waiting hostess. "No, that's it. Thanks."

And without a glance back, Edward left the restaurant.

OOOOO

" _Where…who…?"_

" _In the hospital, Bella, and I'm Edward. From the lobby. Remember me?"_

" _Edward…lobby…"_

" _Yes, Bella. I'm here now."_

 _The voice is gentle, its cadence deep, but at the same time, it's…obscured, camouflaged by an indistinct haze I can't…I can't..._

" _Can't...focus…"_

 _There's a heavy sigh. "It's okay, Bella. It'll be okay. I promise you."_

 _There's something else in the voice now…something brims underneath, like scarlet embers below a threatening blaze. I attempt to open my eyes, but my lids are heavy…weighed down. I only manage to crack them halfway, and only for a couple of seconds before their weight becomes overwhelming and they shutter on their own. Yet in those couple of seconds, I catch a figure's shadow…blurred…_

" _Jas…Jasper?"_

" _No," the blurred figure replies softly. "No. It's not… It's Edward. From the lobby."_

 _It takes every ounce of strength I possess to reopen my eyes. I manage it for two more seconds. The attempt leaves me dizzy, nauseous, but I see…tall…dark hair…_

" _What happened…your nose?"_

 _He doesn't answer right away. By the time he does, the haze has deepened…thickened…_

"… _doesn't matter."_

" _Broke…n?"_

" _Yeah...think…broken…worry about…doesn't…"_

 _His voice. It makes me want to hold on, push back against the thick haze, the overwhelming darkness…but I can't._

" _Frightened…I'm…frightened."_

 _I hear the words as if someone else speaks them from the bottom of a deep abyss…from a black hole in the beyond. The whimper behind the words can't be mine…but…a terror like I've never known grips my chest, paralyzes my limbs._

" _Shh. Bella…don't cry…don't be frightened. Everything…again… promise you... so brave…so strong. Listen to me. They…never…break…again."_

 _My fingers. I try to move them, but like the rest of me, they're weighed down…heavy and…I try…I try to move…to move…to reach…_

 _Pure warmth consumes me, radiates from my fingertips and into every extremity. The darkness doesn't recede…but it softens…becomes welcoming…and before I surrender to it, I hear the voice…one last time…_

" _They will_ _ **never**_ _break you again."_

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **Facebook (teasers, pics, story discussions): Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

 ***For those who expressed an interest in my view on HEAs, please check my fanfiction author page. :)**

" **See" you guys soon. :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thank you all so much for all your wonderful thoughts.**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine as well.**

 **So, I'm thinking about a handful or so chapters left in this story. Then directly after, I plan to post the sequel, which will be this story, from Edward's POV, and it'll be entitled,** _ **'Broken.'**_ **Keep an eye out for that once this story ends. :)**

* * *

 **Break – Chapter 10**

" _I warned you. For years, I warned you that Alice was a spoiled, self-centered, self-absorbed, narcissistic bi-"_

" _Edward, she's your sister."_

" _Sister or not, it's the truth. You let her run wild since we were kids; let her have whatever she wanted without making her stop to hear the word 'no' or deal with consequences."_

" _Do you think I knew something like this would happen?"_

" _Why wouldn't it? It's just history repeating itself, right?"_

I awoke with a sharp gasp.

In the apartment I shared with Makenna, my bedroom window faced the back of the building, straight into the window of another apartment directly across the narrow alleyway. I usually kept the blinds closed, yet even open, only minimal natural light managed to infiltrate the alley and filter its way into my bedroom.

Which was fine. I had two bright floor lamps, one on either side of the room. When I bought them, the guy at the hardware store assured me they'd be a close substitute for natural light. He'd been more or less honest. I also had a table lamp on my nightstand and a set of string lights which hung along the room's perimeter. But in the dark now, I recalled the night I moved in when Makenna and I hung the string lights. We'd joked and drank wine all throughout, excited to be roommates:

"Shit, Bella, I swear I just realized how dark this bedroom is."

I'd laughed at her while I reached down from the ladder and stretched out my fingers, indicating I was ready for the next string of lights.

"You think I care about that?"

"It's because it faces the alley," she'd continued apologetically. "No wonder you have to ward off evil spirits with all these damn lights. I'm so sorry. Do you want to trade rooms? I swear I won't mind. You could take mine and I'll take this one. I just don't want the view to depress you."

By that point in our friendship, I'd already shared with Makenna most of what had happened with Jasper and Alice…and then with Edward. And in the interest of full disclosure with the woman who was about to be my roommate, I'd opened up about my mental health.

Stepping down the ladder, I'd picked up both Makenna's and my goblets from the corner of the floor. Then, after handing Makenna her goblet, I'd smacked my lips hard to her cheek.

"Mack, for the first time in my life, I have my own space and my own bedroom; not one shared in a dorm nor one shared with a wayward husband nor one I was paid to house-sit."

"But-"

"What's more, I'm paying for this little piece of heaven all on my own." I gestured grandly to the small room at large. "It's not part of my dad's mortgage nor is it a space I split rent with that same wayward husband, whose passive-aggressiveness toward the end of our marriage regarding my faltering finances caused me even more mental stress."

"The fucker."

"Seriously. No; this is all mine: Isabella Swan's. Well, it's rented, but you know what I mean."

Like a proud queen admiring her kingdom, I turned in a circle and took in everything around me. When I faced Makenna again, she was still frowning uncertainly.

"Are you sure you don't mind how utterly viewless this bedroom is after months in the Clearwaters' beautiful, bright, and river-view loft?"

"I'm totally sure." Smiling, I gazed through the window in question. "If I've learned anything over the past eighteen months, it's that the view through a window isn't always sunshine and roses. But you know what? I'm beginning to learn how to make my own sunshine and roses…like with all these lights." I laughed and held up my goblet. After a couple of heartbeats, Mack chuckled along with me and clinked her goblet to mine.

"Bee…I know you had it rough for a while," she murmured softly. "But girl, you're gonna be just fine. I can tell."

And with that cleared up, Makenna and I had returned to simply hoping and praying we wouldn't break our necks while hanging string lights and drinking wine.

So now, when I awoke in the middle of the night, dazed and confused from dreams which I couldn't actually recall, the bedroom lay in perfect darkness, with none of the city's significant light pollution seeping in.

Another recollection crossed my mind. This one, a session with Rose when she was _Doctor_ Rose to me, and she'd provided me with one of her perfect anecdotes at just the right time in my life, as she usually did:

"Imagine, Bella, that you're the keeper of a database where files are never deleted; rather, they're sorted and filed by their importance and relevance."

"It sounds like a crowded database," I'd noted.

"It is," she'd agreed, "which is why it's important to keep it updated and sort the files by which are important and relevant at that moment, which ones aren't important, and which ones simply aren't relevant at the moment."

"It sounds like a complicated database as well," I'd added.

"It is," she'd agreed again. "It's not an easy job. You must label them, 'Important and relevant right now,' 'possibly important and relevant later,' or 'not important at all.'

"Tell me again why I can't just delete those 'not important at all' files?"

"Because you're human, and every once in a while, you mislabel files, so the database is set up with a fail-safe to prevent the deletion of files. You see, every once in a while, the importance and relevance of certain files in this database can change, and it's your job to sort through the database and determine these changes."

"I don't think I like this fucking database," I'd laughed.

Dr. Rose had chuckled. "Yes, it's a complex fucking database, and the thought of sorting through it periodically can be daunting. But, Bella, the longer you put off the sorting, the more mixed up that database becomes. So, every once in a while, you have to find someplace calm and quiet, take a deep breath, and…sort. Sometimes, the job gets even more complex.

"Even _more_ complex? How is that possible?"

"Well, because sometimes, even though it's your database, you need input from others to help you label and sort the files properly. Sometimes you have to dig deep into that database, Bella because some of those files have been there for a while; they've been pushed far down the list as other files took precedence. But now…it's time to bring those files to the forefront. Bella, you have the necessary tools now to manage this database. It's an arduous task, and it'll take some learning, some trial and error, but it's a necessary task if we're to keep that file room straight."

Now…alone in the dark of my room, with no distractions and no excuse to be dishonest with myself, I stared up at the blackened ceiling – at my very own someplace calm and quiet.

"All right, Bella," I murmured to myself, "maybe…maybe it's time for some periodic file management."

OOOOO

It was Halloween night.

Brady, Makenna and I were chaperoning Brady's middle school Halloween party. Afterward, Brady had plans to take his kids trick-or-treating around their neighborhood. Mack and I were attending a grown-up Halloween party, _Spirits_ and _Spirits_ , at the sushi place where she still worked part-time.

Mummies-in-blankets, peeled oranges made to look like pumpkins, and candy-corn-laced Chex-mix had been served; age-appropriate games had been played, and the requisite Halloween-themed line dances had been danced. Now, we stood in front of the refreshments table, sipping on our witch's brew while we scanned the room to ensure there was no misbehavior.

Makenna leaned into me and whispered. "Let me tell you something; there's nothing brew-ish at all about this witch's brew." She held up her red, plastic cup. "It's just friggin' flavored water – it's not even juice!"

"What did you expect, Mack? Rum and punch?"

"At least some real fucking red juice!"

I laughed hard. "Mack, we're in a gymnasium full of twelve-to-fourteen-year-olds. Red juice would've made them all the more hyper."

She offered me a blank stare.

"Don't you know anything about children?"

"Should I?"

I laughed again, shaking my head.

"I'll be honest with you, Bee; they don't interest me much. I mean, Brady's kids, my little second-cousins, they're sweet. But even them, I can only handle in half hour, supervised increments."

When I snorted, she shook her head.

"Seriously, how hard did you and Brady twist my arm to get me to agree to this?"

I chuckled heartily. "Makenna, we didn't twist your arm; we asked you nicely!"

"Then I must really love you two to have agreed to hang out here for six hours."

"It's been ninety-minutes!"

"Same thing."

"Don't worry, there's only a half hour left."

"If ninety-minutes has felt like six hours, I don't know that I'll last another half hour."

I snorted. As we spoke, my eyes drifted to the other side of the gymnasium, where Brady, dressed as a cowboy – wide-brimmed hat, leather vest, boot spurs and all – stood with a couple of other cowhands – fellow teachers. They were quietly reprimanding Thor, Captain America, and a couple of Spidermen for chasing a group of Wonder Women and Black Widows around the room. I smiled at the sight of Mr. Brady Fuller in the role of discipliner, an air of strict authority emanating from him. For a few moments, I wondered what he was like with Anna and Quil, though based on our plentiful conversations about his kids, I knew he was loving, nurturing, yet a fair father.

"We're almost done," I assured Makenna about twenty-five minutes later, as she stood with her leather, Amazonian-sandaled foot tapping the floor. "And it wasn't so bad, right? The kids have been pretty well-behaved, for the most part. It's only now that they're beginning to get antsy."

"If you say so," she grumbled. But she grinned impishly as she gave me a side-long glance.

"Man, if I ever do become a mom, remind me never to ask you to babysit."

"Oh, I _will_ remind you," she said.

We both broke out into fits of laughter.

"Besides, by the time you and Brady tie the knot, Quil and Anna will be old enough for me to sit 'em down with cell phones and forget about them if I'm ever asked to babysit. And if you guys have a baby of your own…" She drifted off and took a step closer to me, gently wrapping her hand around my forearm.

"Hey, are you okay?" she whispered.

"Yeah," I nodded swiftly. "Yeah, I'm fine," I assured her, but…for a second, while Makenna spoke of Brady and I marrying as if it was fact, I'd felt all my blood drain from my head. Yet, before I could examine why, Brady looked up and right at me, grinning when he met my gaze. He strode toward us with the grin still on his handsome face, his eyes locked on mine.

"You okay?" he asked, frowning slightly when he reached us.

His hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out to me, but we were in a gymnasium full of impressionable children. When Brady, Makenna and I arrived, my hand had been in Brady's, and the kids had immediately broken into a chant of " _Teacher's got a girlfriend! Teacher's got a girlfriend!"_ followed by a half-hour round of " _Mr. Fuller and Ms. Swan sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"_

"Yeah," I grinned. "I'm fine."

"Good. We're almost done here."

"Brady, how the hell do you do this day after day, five days a week, ten months a year, without going nuts? Six hours with these kids and I'm ready for a drink," Makenna said.

"Two hours, Mack," I corrected, smiling at Brady. "Did you know your cousin has a bit of an aversion to children?"

Brady snorted. "I was somewhat aware, yeah."

"I wouldn't say I have an _aversion_ to them," she said, rolling her eyes. "I just don't like them much. They're not fun as much as they're work, aren't they?" She shrugged, then grinned impishly. "Anyway, right now, I'm ready for some spirits of the ghostly kind, but mostly, of the drinking kind. Ready to go, Bee?"

"Kids _are_ fun," Brady contradicted with a grin. His eyes met mine, tone softening. "Some more fun and well-behaved than others; I promise."

When he winked at me, I nodded and kept the smile on my face.

"Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. Come on, Bella."

"Uhm...Mack? You mind giving Bella and me a few minutes?"

"Sure," she smiled. "I'll meet you right outside the gym, Bella. And please guys," Mack said, lifting her palm, "don't hold hands or kiss or even give one another googly-eyes. The last thing I need to hear is another rendition of 'Mr. Fuller and Ms. Swan sitting on a Tree.' I still have a headache from the last one."

"Mack," I chuckled, "get your butt outside. I'll meet you there in a few."

Brady and I both laughed as we watched Makenna sprint to the gymnasium's double doors as if her ass was on fire. When she was out of sight, we looked at one another. Brady took a step closer while ensuring he maintained both a proper distance and his hands to himself.

He tilted his head sideways and offered me a soft smile. "Are you sure you're okay tonight, Bella?"

"Yeah, of course I am."

"You look a bit tired."

"Gee, thanks a lot," I said with a snort.

He smirked. "You know what I mean. You just look like you didn't sleep well last night. Still beautiful but a bit tired."

It had been a couple of weeks since I'd spotted Edward in that restaurant when Brady and I were out to dinner. Since then, the dreams came almost nightly, but when I awoke, only jumbled snippets remained. My database was getting mixed up, and I knew I needed to sort through it. The problem was…I wasn't sure I could do it on my own.

"Anyway, I've been thinking…" Brady said, interrupting my internal musings as he took another step closer.

"What have you been thinking?"

"Bella, I know my invitation for you to join the kids and me in the Bahamas over Christmas has you a bit stressed. And I know the fact that I've been impatient for your answer makes it worse."

As soon as Brady spoke those words, an undeniable sense of relief flooded me crown-to-toes. On its heels, a deep sense of guilt lodged itself in my throat. Yes, the impending decision I had to soon make had me stressed…but it wasn't what woke me up every night.

"And even though – and I swear I'm not saying this just because they're my kids – even though I know the kids will absolutely adore you and I know you'll adore them…"

Moreover, what the hell did it mean when Brady's retraction of the invitation _eased_ my stress rather than added to it?

I didn't get to find out, not at that moment because apparently, my initial assumption was wrong.

"I was thinking…perhaps it would be easier for everyone involved if you met the kids a few times _before_ the Bahamas trip. You know, so you can all get to know one another. And afterward, you can make a better-informed decision on the Bahamas."

He held my gaze, so sure he'd come up with the perfect solution – and it was a good plan, all things considered. Over the past year or so that I'd known Brady, he'd shown me so many pictures of Anna and Quil, shared so much of them that part of me felt as if I already knew them. Part of me already cared for them. It would be so easy to take the next step because I knew what that next step would lead to: a family of my own.

The idea of Brady's kids…

"I…"

"You can even come with me tonight if you'd like," he said, his smile widening as the idea took form. "You can come trick-or-treating with us."

"Brady," I cleared my throat, "Brady, I don't think that's a good idea. The kids are only expecting you tonight."

"Bella…" he said gently; reassuringly, "Anna and Quil are the easiest-going kids you'll ever meet. Trust me; they won't mind at all."

I swallowed, looked away from him and toward the gymnasium's double doors leading to the outside hallways and to the safety of the streets beyond that.

"I made plans with Makenna, Brady."

"I'm sure she won't mind," Brady insisted. "You guys are meeting a few other people there, right? She won't be alone."

For a few seconds, my gaze remained pinned to the double doors. Then, I turned back to Brady.

"Brady, I can't. I'm not ready tonight," I said honestly. "You took me by surprise, and I'm not in the frame of mind to-"

"To what, to be around children?" he asked, his tone now infused with a bit of an edge. "You just spent two hours surrounded by dozens of middle-schoolers and you did just fine."

"It's not that, Brady."

"Then what is it, Bella?"

"Look, I won't just be meeting a bunch of random children, Brady. These are _your_ children."

"I'm aware of that," he snorted with little humor.

"And together with the baby in Rose's stomach, your children are probably the most important children I'll ever meet. And it's not that I don't think they'll be well-behaved children or that they won't like me or that I won't like them. I have to be ready. I have to be in the right frame of mind because the last thing I want in this world, Brady…the last thing I want is _not_ to be in the right frame of mind when I meet Anna and Quil."

For one, long moment, Brady held my gaze, his blue eyes penetrating, searching, and I didn't look away because it was his flesh and blood of which we spoke. When he reached out and slid his hand around my nape, he pulled me in and rested his forehead on mine.

"You're right, Bella. You're right. I'm sorry," he breathed. "I can't rush you in this."

"Don't apologize, Brady," I said, my voice uneven.

"It's just…I'm ready to move forward, Bella. I'm ready to move beyond the friendship we've shared over the past year and beyond the relationship we've shared over the past few months. I'm ready for the next step, Bella. I want more with you…more time, less space." His voice dropped all the lower. "I dream of spending my nights...and my days with you. Bella, I…"

I shut my eyes. "Brady…"

"Ooh! Mr. Fuller and his girlfriend are about to get busy! Go, Mr. Fuller! Mr. Fuller and Ms. Swan sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" sang Spiderman.

Brady chuckled quietly and quickly pulled back, releasing me.

"We were warned."

"Yeah, we were," I smiled, beyond grateful to Spiderman, and so mixed up I suddenly wanted to cry.

"Go." His tone was much more conciliatory than a few moments earlier. "I'm sure Makenna is waiting outside for you, chomping at the bit to get as far away from school property as possible."

I chuckled. "I'm sure she is."

OOOOO

" _Did you honestly think, considering the example she grew up with, that Alice would stop herself before she stole someone's husband? Did you think she'd learn self-control from her mother?"_

 _There was a pause before the other voice spoke. "The issue right now is that your sister is pregnant, and this woman tried to assault her. And based on how you look and on the preliminary police report I just read, it looks like she assaulted you."_

" _Fuck the preliminary report!" the first voice spat. "That's not what happened, and if anyone tries to include me in any police report against this woman, I'll beat the shit out of them myself."_

I awoke with a long, startled gasp, my heart drumming wildly in my chest. Shutting my eyes and fisting my hair, in the quiet and the dark, I drew in a deep breath and acknowledged what I'd have to do. Strangely enough, instead of leaving me agitated, tense, and wide awake for the rest of the night, the acknowledgment brought with it a sense of calming relief. I slept like a baby 'til daybreak.

The following morning, however, the nerves and agitation absent in the darkness arrived with a vengeance. Nonetheless, I did my morning yoga, and then, before heading into the shower, I sat on the living room floor's plush rug. Makenna had already left for work, so the apartment was empty and relatively silent save for the busy, city noises beyond the windows.

And in between those noises, and with careful deliberation, I composed my text:

 **Hi, Edward. It's Bella.** I stated my name because he may have deleted me from his contacts and therefore wouldn't know who was texting him. **I know it's been a while, and I know**

I squeezed my eyes shut and attempted to regulate my pulse and my heart rate. Then, with another breath, I opened my eyes and continued.

 **I know the last time we spoke, our conversation ended badly. I wanted**

My finger hovered over the backspace key, and I snorted as I deleted those last two words.

 **I hoped**

No. I deleted that too.

 **I've been wondering, however, if perhaps we could have coffee. There are a few things**

Again, my finger hovered over the backspace key, but if I ever wanted answers, I had to be honest. When I was done, I re-read the text in its entirety:

 **Hi, Edward. It's Bella. I know it's been a while, and I know the last time we spoke, our conversation ended badly. I've been wondering, however, if perhaps we could have coffee. There are a few things you once wanted to tell me, and I think I'm ready to listen. I think if we discussed these issues, we could both get some closure. All right, let me know. Thanks.**

My pointer finger shook as I held it poised over the blue arrow which would send the message into cyberspace. And then…I hit it, dropped the phone screen-side down over the couch, and ran into the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, I stood dressed and ready for work in front of the couch.

"Just pick it up, Bella," I hissed to myself. "What's the worst that could happen? No reply? A reply saying he's not interested in meeting for coffee? Then what?" I shut my eyes and exhaled, and when I reopened them, I drew in a breath and squared my shoulders. "Then…you go on."

I picked up the phone.

 **Bella.**

He skipped a line.

 **How are you?**

Another skipped line.

 **It's great to hear from you. It's been a long while. The way things ended was…difficult, to say the least. You looked amazing the other day, truly happy, and I was…thrilled to see that. There were things I wanted to tell you, things I've regretted not saying from the very first time I saw you in that coffee shop, and things I'll still tell you if you'll listen.**

Skipped line.

 **And if it'll give you closure, if that's what you need. Just let me know where and when, okay? Take care, Bella.**

I read and re-read his text. When I swiped left, I saw that his first reply – my name – came through four minutes after I sent my text. The second reply – 'How are you?' – came through one minute later. The paragraph he wrote came through two minutes after that. The final line, the one where he agreed to give me closure, came through five minutes after the previous text.

I typed out a reply, and before I sent it, I wondered fleetingly if he'd read something into it…if _I_ meant anything by it other than a straightforward location we both knew how to find?

 **The coffee shop? Noon today?**

Five seconds after I sent the text, I watched the bubbles indicating he was typing out a reply.

 **See you there and then, Bella.**

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 ***So, as sometimes happens, I posted a teaser on Facebook which was supposed to be for this chapter. But, the chapter ended up longer than I expected, and so that teaser will be in the next chapter. Sorry!**

 **Facebook: (for teasers, pics, story discussions, etc.): Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: (for posting updates): PattyRosa817**

" **See" you soon.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.**

 **So, I seem to have confounded some of you when I said in the last chapter's A/N that there were about a handful or so chapters left in this story. Some of you aren't sure how I can wrap this up in five or so more chapters. While I honestly believe I can, those of you who know me know I tend to be full of shit with my chapter count approximations. So, we'll see. :)**

 **Also, this chapter is shorter than usual because it's really a continuation of the previous chapter, which just grew too damn long.**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine as well.**

* * *

 **Break – Chapter 11**

When I arrived two minutes early to the coffee shop where Edward and I first met – or I suppose, re-met – he was already there. I spotted him through the café window, his back to me, seated at a small table. I knew it was him by the shade and wave of his hair, by the breadth of his shoulders, and by the manner in which those shoulders carried themselves. For a few seconds, I stood just outside of the door, drawing in deep breaths, gathering myself, organizing my thoughts…and all the while, watching him.

When the bell above the door chimed, he turned and looked over his shoulder, then swiftly stood when he saw it was me.

I'd forgotten how tall he was – broad-shouldered, yes, but the rest of him narrowed into a lean frame. As I approached, he smiled, and I realized I'd also forgotten how sometimes, his smile had a way of starting out small at one corner of his mouth, then languidly spreading to the other side, so that by the time it was complete, the entire thing morphed into a grin that lit up his eyes.

And those eyes…as I reached the small table by the window where he waited, and I stood opposite him, I noted I'd forgotten how clear his green eyes were; how almost translucent. Once, during our relatively short association, I'd observed that his irises, while green, were flecked with gold and framed in a narrow band of navy. They'd reminded me of stained-glass windows in churches, whose undefined shapes and bold colors told the most detailed of narratives.

And the longer our gazes remained locked, the more I understood ' _forgotten'_ wasn't the right word. After all, as Rose once said, files aren't deleted; they're pushed down the list when other files take precedence.

Edward and I hadn't spoken in a year. During that year, I'd worked on those files which _had_ to take precedence so that the entire system wouldn't crash again. I'd rebuilt the database from the bottom up; through new social connections, discovered and rediscovered interests, and a decision on what to do with myself for the short-term, at least. For the good of all my other files, my file labeled 'Edward… _Cullen – Her_ brother' had to be pushed down the list. But now, it was time for periodic database management.

Edward rounded the table and pulled out my chair.

"Thanks," I murmured, diverting my gaze from him as I sat.

"No problem," he said quietly in return and took his own seat.

Our eyes met and held, and for a few moments, neither one of us spoke.

Edward cleared his throat. "You look great. You let your hair grow out again."

"Oh," I said ineloquently, touching my hair like someone who couldn't recall what her own hair looked like. "Thanks. You look great too."

He offered me a sheepish smile. "Uhm, I was going to order you a coffee, but I wasn't sure if you still took it the same."

"Oh." Again. I cleared my throat, to see if that would help. "Yes. Yes, I do take it the same."

"Okay. So, give me a sec, and I'll go put in our orders." With his thumb, he gestured toward the counter and spoke the statement more like a question.

"Okay. Thank you."

He stood fluidly, turned toward the counter, and I exhaled through narrowed lips. I watched him place our orders, and in less than a minute, barely sufficient time to compose myself, he was back in his seat.

"They should be ready in a few minutes."

I nodded and swallowed.

"Edward, I-"

"Bella, you-"

We both chuckled at the same time. Edward graciously motioned for me to go first. When I spoke, my words came out slow and haltingly yet more evenly as we wore on.

"I just wanted to thank you for meeting me today on such short notice and…despite how we left things the last time we spoke."

He shook his head. "No. No problem. I was…glad to hear from you, even gladder you texted today and not last week or next."

"How come?"

He inhaled deeply. His hands were on the tabletop between us, and he shifted them back and forth as he spoke, eyes on his hands.

"Well, I've been away for a while, for the past year or so."

"For work?"

He looked up at me. "Yeah."

"Where've you been?"

He exhaled. "Uh, I was in Asia for a while – for a few months before last year's flu season. Then in Central America and the Caribbean for a small yellow fever outbreak." He scratched his head, thinking. "I spent a couple of months in Atlanta at CDC Headquarters."

"You were in New York a couple of weeks ago, though. Right?" I smiled.

His hands dropped back to the table, and he offered me a faint smile.

"Yeah. That night I saw you with…" he cleared his throat, "I saw you at that restaurant, I was picking up an order for a group of us back at the office. We were having a late session at work. There are issues with this year's flu vaccine, but-" He waved it off and grinned self-consciously, squirming around in his seat, his cheeks turning pink. "Never mind."

"No," I said while actually nodding. "No, I know. I mean…I saw you on TV a couple of weeks ago talking about it."

He quirked a thick, well-groomed eyebrow. "You did?"

"Yeah. You discussed specific strains."

At this, Edward threw back his head and chuckled heartily, and it was…the most joyous and the most heartbreaking moment I'd experienced in a while. It took me back to those days when I found myself falling in love with him…yet still so unsure of myself.

The chuckle reverberated through his arms and into his palms, which were back on the tabletop, and into my hands, which were knit over the table and in front of me. Sighing, he met my gaze again.

"I guess I never learn my lesson about that, do I?"

"Apparently not," I grinned wryly.

"My friend and colleague, Emmett McCarty, was standing behind the camera while I gave that interview. When I started talking strains, he waved his hands wildly, mouthed, 'Stop!' But, I was on a roll." He snorted self-deprecatingly.

"Yeah, I remember how you are once you get started on those strains."

I rolled my eyes, and Edward chuckled again, quietly this time. For a few moments, we said nothing.

"Anyway, last week I was at CDC Headquarters again, and I have to return next week."

"You've been busy," I noted.

"Yeah," he nodded, "but you know what they say about idle hands and idle minds." He raked a hand through his hair. "Anyway, it's been good. Keeps me focused. I haven't-"

The barista called our names in the middle of Edward's strange speech, and Edward's chair scraped the floor as he pushed it back.

"Excuse me."

He returned promptly with two mugs and two saucers, mine a black coffee, and his a frothy latte. And as he set both mugs down, I thanked him while my mind wandered to those days of latte art. A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, which I concealed when he sat back down.

We both wrapped our hands around our cups, though neither of us took a sip.

"So Bella, how-"

"Edward-"

Again, we shared a mutually self-conscious chuckle, dropping our eyes to the space between us.

"I went first before," I said. "It's your turn now."

After a few seconds, he looked up at me through vibrantly green eyes framed by a thick contrast of dark lashes and brows.

"How've _you_ been, Bella?" he asked softly.

It was a strange circumstance; if anyone besides Rose had first-hand knowledge of how I'd been before, when I was still recovering from my breakdown…and how I'd been the day of my breakdown as well, it was Edward.

The realization hit me in that split second before I replied: in its own peculiarly paradoxical way, Edward knew me even _more_ than did Rose, more than anyone knew me because he was there _, both_ times.

"I've been good, Edward. Pretty good. Busy as well. I got a job."

"Did you?" he grinned. "Where- I mean," he shook his head quickly, green eyes growing simultaneously wide and apologetic. "Sorry. I just mean, what do you do?"

His obvious unease tied tense knots in my stomach. "No, it's fine, it's fine." I tried waving away his apology, but we both needed a moment. We reached for our coffee, took a few seconds to hide behind our mugs, and after another long pause, I set down my mug and cleared my throat.

"Well, though not as exciting as your year around the world-"

He snorted.

"I'm actually part of a writer's group workshop downtown," I continued. "We set up publications, readings, and contests for new writers, stuff like that. It's interesting work. I meet a lot of wonderful people."

"That sounds amazing, Bella, and right up your alley. You've always been an artistic, free spirit, who was never meant to be bound by some stupid, two-cent, neighborhood publication." He exhaled. "It sounds great, Bella; it really does."

And there it was; a hint of that open awe I remembered from our time together, awe that for a long while afterward, I believed he'd feigned. It was that belief, that his admiration for me had all been a lie, which kept me up for months afterward despite Doctor Rose's professional advice.

Yet, here it was again. Here _we_ were again.

"But what about your writing?" he asked carefully. "How's that going? I remember…I remember you were really involved in a project-"

"It was a novel," I blurted. Then, I sighed. "It was a novel, Edward."

He smiled gently. "You never told me that before."

A pause.

"I was going to," I said honestly. "I was going to tell you exactly what I was writing. That weekend…I was going to share it with you, ask you if you wanted to read it."

As I spoke, Edward's breaths deepened so that now, his chest rose and fell noticeably with each breath. His nostrils, slightly skewed to one side, flared. His eyes swept away from me.

"And I fucked it all up," he breathed roughly. "I fucked it up from the very beginning. And worst of all…I _hurt_ you."

"That night after I found out, you called me; you weren't supposed to be back in New York yet. You had a conference the next morning in Atlanta, a speech you were scheduled to give. That's why we were waiting until Friday night to meet."

He said nothing, kept his eyes on the window and on the golden, fall afternoon outdoors.

"You came back to New York early."

He nodded once.

"To speak with me?"

Another nod.

"What happened with your speech, Edward?"

He shrugged. "I asked a colleague, Emmett, to present it for me."

I shook my head, spoke through the lump lodged in my throat. "So much urgency once you realized I'd figured it out. Why couldn't you have shown that urgency beforehand?" I choked. "The moment you handed me that coffee cup, you should've-"

His eyes flashed back to me, jaw squared tightly. "I was wrong, Bella; one-hundred percent wrong. I'll own that completely. But for those first few minutes, I honestly thought you recognized me. And I thought…for those first few minutes, I thought the fact that you actually spoke to me meant something. I thought it meant you _remembered_ me, and you were okay with me despite who I was and who I... It wasn't until we stood out on the sidewalk that I realized you thought you were speaking with a perfect stranger."

"Why didn't you say anything then?"

"I should've," he said miserably. "But…I didn't think it likely I'd see you again after that, and I selfishly wanted to hold on to our conversation for a few minutes longer."

"Fine," I said shortly. "What about the time after that, Edward? You had so many opportunities in those first few weeks."

"Do you know I saw you in that coffee shop for two straight weeks after that first encounter, and I didn't say a word to you. I didn't approach you. I'd come in and get my coffee, and there you'd be, typing away, distracted by your imagination, and I would stand there and wonder… One day, I found myself sitting next to you again, speaking with you, and every word between us just drew me in more and more. Every subsequent encounter was the same, and every subsequent encounter, I told myself I'd tell you before I left. And when I didn't, I hated myself. But Jesus, Bella, you should've been the hardest person in the world for me to speak with, yet you were the easiest. You should've been the easiest person for me to run the other way from, yet you were the hardest."

"And all while you did these things, all while you knew this, you left me in the dark. You took it upon yourself to deal with the paradox of us, and in the process, you made it _all_ a lie. You turned it into a mockery."

"It wasn't _all_ a lie," he said, swallowing, shaking head. "The most salient fact of all wasn't a lie."

I shut my eyes, shook my head.

"Are you okay?"

My eyes shot open. "I'm fine, Edward. I wasn't a china doll then, and I'm not one now. And I would've been fine. I would've been better had you been honest and upfront, than with the mortification you made me feel with your lies, with your omissions."

Now, he squeezed his eyes shut. "God, I'm so sorry."

"Tell me the truth. Tell me everything, once and for all. Tell me what was real back then and what wasn't, so that I can try to figure out what's real now. Because I'm stuck now, Edward. I've managed the database as far as I can on my own, and I think I've done well with it. But it's getting mixed up because I don't know what files should take precedence…and which ones should be returned to the bottom of the list."

It was a stupid thing to say – to say the least. Oddly bizarre. Nonsensical, verbal vomit spewed in the heat of the moment, which should've confounded anyone and everyone but me – and perhaps Rose.

Yet, the Stranger…Edward…Alice's brother had always possessed a singular insight into my head.

In the small space between us, Edward's palm lay flat over the table. In the relative silence between us, he held my gaze, while in my periphery, he edged his fingers closer; slowly, to where my hand was in a tense fist. All along, he knew I was watching…and debating in my own way, while he dared in his own way. But that had always been _our_ way.

His fingers brushed my white knuckles; gentle, ghostly strokes, and when my hand finally relaxed and loosened, he eased his hand away. And as with that day long ago, the first time he touched me – such an innocent stroke – the heat of his fingers branded me, left a long-lasting imprint.

"If your database is mixed up, let me help you sort through it. And then…it'll be completely up to you how you want to organize those files."

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **Facebook (for teasers, pics, story discussions, etc.): Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter (for chapter update notifications and other varied stuff): PattyRosa817**

" **See" you soon. :)**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: So sorry for the delay here. I've been sick. But, here we go. Once again, there was a teaser on Facebook for this chapter, which we didn't quite get to, lol. That chapter should post tomorrow.**

 **As always, thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts. And yeah, let's just forget the previous estimate on how many chapters are left. Let's say instead, I'm trying to wrap it up. We'll see how many chapters it takes for me to do so. ;)**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes belong to me as well.**

* * *

 **Break – Chapter 12**

" _You want to know what happened? What happened was I had her! I was holding her- holding her back, and she'd calmed down! Yeah, she was still upset – after what she saw, of course, she was fucking upset. But she'd calmed down!"_

" _She attacked her husband, correct? Alice says he couldn't even pull her off-"_

" _That's bullshit. I pulled her off her bastard husband, even though the asshole deserved all the blows she was landing. I knew the cops had been called, and I didn't want her getting into any more trouble than she was already in."_

" _Then how did you end up with-"_

" _Your heartless daughter kept taunting her! Instead of shutting the hell up after what she did, instead of cringing in shame at being caught bare-assed with another woman's husband-"_

" _Edward, I know this brings up bad memories-"_

" _Your mistakes are yours to live with, old man, but when they affect an innocent woman, the only innocent party in this entire mess-"_

OOOOO

 **Good morning, Beautiful. How's your day so far?**

 **Morning, Brady. Just woke up. Didn't hear the alarm, so I'm still in bed and can't comment on the day yet.**

 **LOL. Okay. How was your night then?**

 **Full of strange dreams. But nvm that. How's your day?**

 **Not bad. Teachers conference ends this morning. And I bet if I would've stayed over I could've kept the dreams at bay.**

 **LOL. Maybe, but my room is barely big enough for one, and your place is too far uptown. Anyway, thank goodness for the end of Teachers conference. I know the Board of Ed's been frustrating you.**

 **Sure has. The conference will probably end before noon. And my place isn't too far uptown, btw.**

 **Good. You'll have the afternoon to yourself.**

 **Yep, and I won't mind a break from explaining to a class of 13-yr-olds the importance of the Civil War in their daily lives OR from trying to explain the same to a bunch of middle-aged bureaucrats.**

 **You're such a history nerd, lol.**

 **Yeah, but you knew this from the get.**

 **I did. So, what plans do you have for your free time this afternoon?**

 **Nothing set. Any suggestions?**

 **Hm. Laundry?**

 **Boring. I'm actually hoping I might finally get to spend some alone time with my girlfriend after a couple of busy weeks; somewhere quiet…and private…maybe don't get out of bed yet, Bella.**

 **Brady, you might be lucky enough to have the afternoon off, but I've got a busy day ahead.**

 **Fine, fine. Lunch, then?**

 **Hello? Bella?**

 **Sorry, Brady, I was brushing my teeth. I'm meeting a friend for lunch.**

 **This free afternoon of mine is looking shitty.**

 **Aww, poor baby. I'm sure you'll find something to do. See you tonight?**

 **If I can't see you before, then sure. Later, Beautiful.**

 **Later, Brady.**

OOOOO

It was a brisk, early November day; one of those days where fall balances on the precipice of winter; where you wake up and turn on the TV, and holiday commercials suddenly abound; where on the radio, carolers carol, and everywhere marketers ramp up the marketing. It was one of those days when you step out onto the city streets, and overnight, along with the November chill, anticipation and anxiousness swirled in the air.

And that pretty much summed me up that morning as well as I sat at work and gazed distractedly through the storefront window, gnawing my fingernail beds raw. Half of the windows on the block were already framed by bright lights. People strolled back and forth in matching hats, gloves, and scarves while Jack Frost began his yearly nose nipping. I looked down at my chewed-up thumbs. At least now, I'd be able to keep them hidden inside gloves.

An old conversation regarding my fingers, held long ago with a…not-so-much-a-stranger stranger, sprang to mind:

" _Pretty gross, huh?"_

" _Honestly, I'd be more concerned with the health risks involved with your touching something dirty and getting those fingers infected."_

At the memory, I felt a wistful smile tugging at my mouth. "Makes sense now that you would've thought of the health risks, _Doctor_ Cullen."

"Bella, you need to make a choice here!"

Startled out of my reverie, I blinked up at Embry, one of our workshop assistants, a sweet kid fresh out of Columbia's English Lit program.

"What did you say?" I asked.

Embry sighed. There were two strings of lights in his hands, and at my inquiry, he held them up higher.

"I'm asking you to help me choose here; the red lights or the white lights for the window display?"

"Oh. Oh, a choice on the window display. Well, why can't we do both red and white?"

"Both. Hmm," he hummed. "Indecisive…but I like it. Why the hell not?" With an appeased grin, Embry resumed his decorating and switched to humming a holiday tune.

"Hey Embry, isn't it funny the way the holidays creep up on us? I mean, we're just going along with our daily lives and then, just like that..." I snapped my fingers.

"Yeah, but isn't that the way most of the good stuff in life happens?"

"Is it?" I wondered. "I've always planned my good stuff."

Embry stopped what he was doing and frowned at me yet again. "Bella, you can't plan the _really_ good stuff. The fact that we're just taking care of our day to day when BOOM," he yelled, making me jump in my seat a bit, "all that passion and drama and chaos of the holidays hits us out of nowhere, _that's_ what makes it all so damn exciting. And pretty damn timely too. It wakes us up after months of…" he searched for the right word, "whatevs."

"Months of whatevs?"

"Yeah. You know." He shrugged. " _Whatevs_."

I recalled something Rose once said when she was my therapist, about how our bodies napped when they needed a nap and then woke to just the right stimuli.

"But is that better than just humming along peacefully, without all that madness?" I mused.

"Bella, you're killing me here! We humans thrive on madness! It's what gives Life its flavor. Otherwise, it would just be one bland day after another. No passion or chaos," he angled his head sideways, "but no excitement either. We need to shake things up a bit sometimes, you know? Something to break us out of the humdrum and monotony."

"Something to break us out of the monotony," I echoed, biting my lip. "Sounds like a big risk because what if…what if that monotony is genuinely good for you?"

Embry held my gaze. "Bella, are we still talking about the holidays?"

"Uh…yeah. I am. Aren't you?"

" _I_ am." He offered me a wry grin and a snort before resuming his holiday light hanging.

And with an inward sigh, I resumed my work until a few minutes later, when my dad called. We exchanged pleasantries and weather updates for a bit.

"Bells, I know your Christmas plans are still up in the air, but you're coming home for Thanksgiving, right?"

"Ahh. So, that's why you're calling me at the crack of dawn your time." Charlie's impish chuckle confirmed my guess. "Yes, Dad," I groaned while secretly grinning. "I promised I'd be there, and I will be. I haven't been back to Forks…in a long time."

Despite the previously guilty chuckle, my dad expelled a breath of relief. "Okay, good. Just wanted to make sure. You've just sounded a bit…distracted lately."

"I've had a couple of things on my mind," I admitted.

"Oh. Well, I know you said Dr. Rose, isn't your therapist any longer because she's your friend now, but I read that in such cases, they can provide you with a referral? You know, in case you- I mean in case something comes up."

In theory, I knew it would take time for my dad to understand that he didn't need to tip-toe around my mental health issues. In practice, it was harder to hear.

"I have a referral, and if I do need to speak with a therapist, I'll reach out. But it's nothing like that."

"But something _is_ bothering you," he observed.

"Not so much bothering me as much as- Dad," I sighed, "I know you worry, but I promise, I'm fine."

"Of course I worry, Bells," he said, and I could imagine the frustrated picture he made, likely raking a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "You're all the way at the other end of the country, and if…" he exhaled, "God forbid if you should suffer another bout of…of…"

"Of depression, Dad. It's depression, and chances are that one day, I will have another bout. It's a mental illness, a disease, and it's no one's fault, and I'm not ashamed of it – not any longer. I do work to head it off when I can, but that doesn't mean we have to tip-toe around it. And _all_ that being said," I chuckled, "my life can't revolve around the scenario of _the next time_ , and neither should yours, Dad. I'm not alone here in New York."

"Well, I know you have Brady, and he does sound like a great guy."

"He is a great guy," I murmured in agreement. "But…"

Brady was so great, in fact, that since our argument on Halloween night, he'd backed off about the Bahamas trip and about my meeting Anna and Quil. He'd agreed to wait for _me_ to tell him when I was ready to both meet his kids and to decide on the Bahamas.

Since early on in our friendship, Brady showed interest in being more than friends. The night we met, however, as attractive and interesting as I found him, I'd been on the verge of finding myself…deeply involved in a relationship. I'd made that clear to Brady, and once that went sour, all I'd mentioned of it was a vague statement about how things didn't work out. For a while after that, I was in no frame of mind for romantic interests, and I suppose I made that clear as well. It was months before Brady made any attempt to take our friendship to another level.

When Brady's and my relationship did progress, in the interest of full disclosure, I divulged my issues – my emotional ones as well as my fertility issues. I also provided a basic and abbreviated rundown on my divorce: the ex cheated with a friend, I lost my shit, the cops were called, I went into therapy, and I got divorced. Yet, there was no mention of Edward in that narrative.

Because there were details _I_ didn't have and details not everyone needed to know. Yet, as they say, the devil was in those details. One of the only other people who knew a crucial portion of that story, perhaps even better than I knew that portion, was the one person never mentioned between Brady and me.

So, on Halloween night, when Brady showed me once again just how great a guy he could be by volleying the ball into my court, a knot formed in my chest. It was a knot that tightened just the slightest bit more every day since, just enough to remind me that unless I wanted that knot to really begin closing things off again, I had to perform some database management. I had to come to a decision soon.

The problem was, I wasn't even sure what I was deciding.

"He's a great guy, Dad, yes. But what I mean is I have friends. I have a network of people who care about me."

"Bells…" my dad said, "no one's been around bothering you lately, right?"

"No, Charlie." I swallowed. "Why do you ask?"

Charlie didn't immediately reply. Perhaps he was wary due to a conversation he and I had around the time when things went to hell with Edward, which was right after my ex-husband and his girlfriend decided to pay me separate, unexpected, and unwelcome visits. It was…not a good time.

And to exacerbate the issue, during this time, Charlie developed a habit of offering me unsolicited, yet periodic updates slash rants based on second-hand information he gleaned from my ex-in-laws. For example:

" _He's got the nerve to tell me he thinks his son made a mistake. Yeah, no fucking kidding the little bastard made a mistake."_

" _She tells me she loves her grandson with all her heart and soul, but Jasper Junior's mom will never be like our little Bella. Pfft. Maybe she should've told her son that before he threw you over simply because it was taking you guys a bit longer to have a baby."_

Then, came this particular gem I never heard to completion:

" _So, Jasper came home to Forks for a visit. Can you believe he had the nerve to show up at my doorstep and-"_

" _Dad, I don't want to hear about it. I don't want to know. Hearing about them only reminds me of_ _ **him**_ _."_

" _Honey," my dad had said, sounding both remorseful and confused, "I thought you were past wanting your ex-husband back."_

" _I am. I don't want him back. I…Dad, I…"_

No. I never told my dad about Edward either.

"… _I just don't want to hear about them. Please."_

So, Charlie's periodic updates abruptly ended. But now…

"Dad? I know I said I didn't want periodic updates, and I still don't, but just tell me why you're asking if anyone's been bothering me."

Charlie cleared his throat. "Well, I hear things, Bells, and let's just say it doesn't seem like everything's exactly hunky-dory for your ex and his girlfriend, if you know what I mean. And I just want to make sure the little bastard's not getting any more ideas about coming around for missing _jerseys_." My dad snorted.

"No. I haven't seen him nor heard from him in over a year, Dad. Whatever goes on with them has nothing to do with me."

"Good," Charlie said. "Bells, you were right to tell me to quit it with the periodic updates. You've spent the past couple of years building yourself a new life. You've got good friends, a great guy, a job you enjoy, you're sending out- what are those called?"

"Query letters, Dad."

"Yeah; query letters. Any replies by the way?"

"Nothing beyond 'Thank you for your submittal.'"

"Oh. Point is, Bells, you're in a good place now. You don't need any new reminders of all that old garbage."

"No," I murmured. "No, I suppose I don't need reminders."

OOOOO

When I spotted him through the window, waiting at our usual table, I stopped and drew in a series of uneven breaths.

No, I didn't need reminders…but I needed answers.

It had been a few days since Edward and I met here for the first time in a year. Since that day, the dreams came nightly. They mixed with memories and recollections of our brief time together, all like pieces of a puzzle; one which only he and I could fit. The things he'd told me a few days earlier in this coffee shop were like the outer pieces, the easy ones with the straight edges, those basic pieces which, while imperative, merely created the outline for those harder pieces. While the inner pieces were missing, the big picture was incomplete. What exactly that picture would look like in the end was the billion-dollar question.

This time, Edward wasn't seated with his back to me. As if he'd noted from which direction I arrived last time, and almost as if he'd sensed my approach this time, he looked up. When his eyes found me, a warm smile formed on his handsome face. His broad shoulders rose and fell. Had the scene transpired a year earlier, it would've been a wondrous moment indeed.

As I opened the door to the coffee shop, Edward stood. Dressed for work today in crisp, dark pants, a white button-down shirt with no tie, and a blazer, he was a good-looking guy who commanded more attention than usual. From the furtive glances around the coffee shop, he received it; though, he didn't seem to notice or care.

"Hey."

It was such a simple, innocuous greeting, yet he managed to infuse it with pages and pages worth of questions. As he rounded the small space between us and pulled out my chair, my heart vacillated between racing and simply skipping beats.

"Hey," I managed to breathe in return as we took our seats. Though my greeting was just one short, shakily-delivered word. Carefully and meticulously, I removed my jacket, hung my purse off the chair, and pulled off my gloves finger by finger. Then, I folded them inside my purse and knit my hands over the table.

When I met Edward's gaze, he was grinning softly, his hands also knit before him.

"So, how've you been these past, few days, Bella?"

Perhaps because of the uproar in my mind, I replied candidly. "Anxious. Nervous. And confused. About a lot of things."

For a few moments, we silently held one another's gaze while the business of a busy coffee shop went on around us; orders loudly placed; names called out once, twice; mugs and dishes clinked; and in between it all, laughter.

Edward's Adam's Apple bobbed.

"And you?" I asked.

"More or less the same."

We hadn't kept in touch in the days following our last meeting. Despite what I'd texted Brady regarding lunch with a friend, Edward and I weren't exactly _friends_. It wasn't as if, at the snap of a finger, the way the holidays arrived from one day to the next, and after a long year's absence from one another's lives, we'd resolved everything and achieved enough closure for…whatever came next.

In all honesty, I wasn't sure what we were to one another beyond two people who'd _met_ – for lack of a better word – under horrendous circumstances, then re-met a year later under unclear circumstances, parted under even worse circumstances…and a year after that, agreed to meet with alleged clearer intentions.

But, as they said, the devil was in the details. There were issues we had to sort through, issues which couldn't be sorted through texts or even in one sitting.

Edward drew in a deep breath and exhaled it through narrowed lips.

"So, I ordered our coffees-"

"Okay, thanks."

"-but I was wondering…" he swallowed and continued, "would you mind running an errand with me?"

Startled by the completely unexpected request, my head pulled back.

"Oh. I…Edward, I've got to return to work-"

"It won't take long," he rushed to assure me. "I just have to pick up some documents from one of our labs a few blocks away. If you'd rather not, that's fine," he followed up quickly. "It can wait a few, but in that case, I'll have to cut out a bit early." Edward's shoulders sagged. "I apologize, Bella," he said, "but something came up at the last minute before I left the office."

"Oh, uhm…" I angled my head sideways, "do you mind telling me what kind of documents?"

It was a bullshit question, meant more as a stall tactic. Whether or not I decided to run an errand with Edward wasn't based on what kind of documents he had to pick up, for God's sake.

Here was the real issue: I spent a few, short months convinced I was getting to know the man before me, slowly coming to believe I could read him, to believe in him…to trust him. The interest he showed in me, the attraction, and occasionally, the guilt and remorse, I bought all of it. Back then, I hadn't _understood_ the guilt and remorse; and at the very end of our short relationship, I'd attributed those two emotions to the most nefarious of intentions. However, I never doubted I'd read them in his expression.

So, we sat there, and I allowed him to explain the documents' contents as if that would be the deciding factor when in reality, I was gauging _myself_ , _my_ limits, _my_ mental fortitude in relation to a not-so-leisurely stroll with Edward down streets we once jogged together.

And all the while, Edward graciously offered me another unnecessary yet rueful apology…perhaps allowing me time in which to debate with myself. But that would imply he knew me in ways no one else knew me.

"Sorry. I should've started out with a more detailed explanation, but I know how carried away I can get."

Despite my mental uproar, I chuckled. "No, don't apologize. Just don't give me strain numbers in the details."

Edward barked a laugh, then quickly cleared his throat. "Don't give you strain numbers," he echoed, amusement lingering in his voice. "Okay. Well, without going into strain numbers, the documents are related to the new flu strain the CDC has been studying. We've been testing it, and the documents are the results of some of the latest rounds of testing."

"What are you testing it for?"

Edward frowned, all mirth abruptly diminished. Instead, the lines that now marred his brow signaled more than a little concern.

"We're trying to develop an inoculation that'll cover the strain, but we've got to make sure it's safe for the general population."

"It's kind of late in the season for a new flu vaccine, isn't it?" I asked, genuinely interested now. "I mean, I already received mine."

"I'm glad to hear that," he smiled softly. "And yes, it _is_ late in the season, which is why this is such a rush, but it's a nasty strain, Bella. This would be a booster to the original inoculation."

"It sounds urgent."

"It is. And I understand if you can't or if you honestly don't want to take the walk with me. I should've texted you, but I was just informed the results were ready before I left to meet with you. Either way, it's pretty time sensitive, so I may have to-"

"We should get going then."

While I gathered my things, Edward remained momentarily still.

"Uhm, I'll pick up the coffees to go."

"Okay, thanks," I said, shrugging into my jacket. "I'll meet you outside."

OOOOO

Outside, the afternoon sun dispelled some of the morning briskness which still clung in the air. But what really did the trick was Edward with his tall frame beside me, purposely standing on the side closest to the riverfront. There was a time when we'd pretend-fight for the side closest to the river; those short weeks when we were 'jogging buddies,' and we craved a cool breeze.

At first, this walk was nothing like those jogs. We traversed more like two strangers on the same path, begrudgingly sharing a narrow sidewalk, while headed in the same direction and saved from total silence by the rush of a Manhattan afternoon. Further saved from having to speak by the coffee we used as mouth guards. Heavy steps fell side by side, awkward and tense. In my periphery, his legs were stiff, his frame moving with unfamiliar gracelessness.

"Have you been taking care of those fingers?"

I was momentarily startled, but then I realized he would've noticed them at the coffee shop. Edward was nothing if not observant.

"Sometimes," I admitted with a faint smile. "They're a bit worse than usual this morning."

He was quiet for half a minute.

"But that means the writing's going particularly well, doesn't it?"

"Yes," I said. "Yes, it's going…particularly well lately."

I'd been candid at the coffee shop, but not so much now. How could I explain when I didn't understand it myself; even more, how would he interpret it if I told him that back then, in those months when I knew him, I'd written the heart and soul, the major portion of my novel? The ensuing months consisted of editing, of polishing, of querying. But the heart was there. And while in the in-between year, I'd never lost my muse, she was back with a fucking vengeance.

We finished our coffees, disposed of them at the corner trash bin, and continued our mostly silent walk.

A guy in an overdone business suit, with a cellphone to ear and in urgent conversation suddenly surged toward me. He would've steamrolled me head-on had I not swiftly sidestepped him and crashed into Edward instead.

"Whoa."

"Oh."

Edward held me up, his hands curved around my forearms. For an endless moment, we stood there on the sidewalk, in much the same positions we'd stood a year earlier – the morning he kissed me. Only a handful of inches separated us as I angled my head up to hold his gaze.

Then, there was a rush of air as he dropped his hands and stepped back. His emerald eyes remained on me for a second longer before his gaze hardened, and his slightly crooked nostrils flared. His indignant attention shifted toward the man who'd strolled on by.

"Hey, Jackass?" Edward called out.

In different circumstances, I may have laughed at the fact that the guy actually stopped and turned around.

"Apologize to the lady, and next time, watch where the hell you're going. You almost knocked her down."

"Oh." The guy's eyes met mine and widened. "Oh, I'm sorry."

I lifted a hand in a dismissive, 'whatevs, dude' manner of which Embry would've been proud. When he scurried off, once more glued to his cellphone, Edward and I looked at one another. I quirked an eyebrow.

"My fucking hero?"

He shut his eyes for a moment, pressed his lips together, and then chuckled.

"That was just a tad bit unnecessary," I grinned. "It's fucking New York City during the lunchtime rush… but thanks for the sentiment," I added softly.

Edward reopened his eyes and nodded, a rueful smirk on his face. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

After that, the walk was somewhat less awkward. The sun's rays peeked in from between downtown's tightly knit, brick-and-mortar buildings. The golden beams fell over Edward and highlighted the copper in his hair, the emerald in his eyes, and the slight, crooked tilt of his nose.

"So, how far are we going, Edward?"

"Uh," his eyes narrowed as he pointed ahead. "The end of the block right there. See the gray building? That's one of our labs." He looked down at me. "Sorry. I should've hailed a cab."

"For five blocks? I didn't mind the walk at all."

"It's a bit cold," he pointed out.

"It's warming up."

"You almost got knocked over."

"Par for the course for a short woman in New York."

He snorted. "Seriously, we can take a cab back if you have to get to work quickly."

"No. No, I'm not too busy today. I'd prefer the walk."

"Okay. Okay, good." He nodded and smiled, facing forward again, and I forced myself to do the same. Our side by side steps gathered steam and lost their rigidity.

Edward lifted his eyes to the grey-blue sky. "Yeah, it has warmed up since this morning, though you can feel winter around the corner now."

"I was thinking the same thing this morning."

There was a short pause while we waited for the traffic light to change. Despite my teasing him a few minutes earlier, as we crossed, he pressed his palm lightly to my lower back, guiding me, making sure I made it across before another possible injury befell me. Always in my personal space. I allowed it.

"Do you still run in the mornings, Bella?" he asked as we reached the curb.

"Usually. I'm into yoga a bit too, and we've got a treadmill in the living room at home. But I still try to get out for a run most mornings, even if it's just a short one. Unlike you though, I don't go out if it's raining." I looked up at him, smiling instinctively at the recollection of the Edward of a year ago, smugly informing me he went out for his morning runs no matter the weather.

This Edward, however, glared straight ahead, his jaw abruptly locked so squarely the sharp, angular bones almost protruded.

"So, you have…a treadmill at home?" His voice was low and even.

"Mhm," I replied, distracted as we neared our destination by the building – one of a few buildings in downtown Manhattan that had survived colonial times due to constant care and refurbishment.

When I looked back at Edward, he nodded and dropped his head. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment, and he swallowed and gave his head one sharp shake. His reaction completely confounded me, as if he was a treadmill salesman, and I'd just told him I wasn't looking for an upgrade.

"Edward?"

"I suppose that's convenient."

"What, the treadmill? It is. Except…"

We reached the gray building that was our destination. But before walking in, Edward gently lay a hand on my forearm. I stopped walking and turned toward him.

"Except…?" he prompted.

I'd purposely stopped myself, hesitated, but no matter what else may have been true or not true between us, there were few people who knew about my struggles with mental health more than did the man before me. And the thing was, not speaking with him was harder than speaking with him.

"Except it's not the same, watching the world through a window while on that treadmill. Sometimes, I'm not sure of what's real and what's not until I get outside. Sometimes, when the weather looks nasty through the window, I stay indoors. When…things feel nasty in my head, I stay indoors," I whispered. "Then I regret it because…maybe it wasn't so bad out there, and I wasted the day."

For a few moments, Edward kept me locked in his gaze, his hand a gentle comfort on my arm.

"Your love/hate relationship with windows."

His words hit me with such force, my eyes stung.

"I can't believe you remember that," I breathed shakily. "I told you that the first time we met."

"Except, it wasn't the first time we met." Edward drew in a long breath and released it into the space between us, bathing me in its transient warmth. "But it _was_ the first time you told me that. I remember, Bella. I remember…quite a bit, and I'll share all of it with you now, if you'll let me. I know I should've done so much earlier."

I nodded, swallowed hard as I shifted my gaze to the world just over his shoulder.

"My thing with windows, it's my mind's way of separating myself from things when I'm not ready, putting both a figurative and literal block between myself and the world, or a park with babies I'll never have…or a person who hurt me."

"It's a metaphor."

My eyes flashed back to him. "How do you _still_ know me so well?" I choked, shaking my head. "My therapist, Rose, always spoke to me in metaphors. At first, I thought it was just _her_ way until I realized she did it because it fit _me_. But how do _you_ know, Edward?"

He offered me a smile and a one-shouldered shrug. "I've always thought that the way your mind works is amazing."

I snorted and shook my head again.

"Step outside, Bella."

"What?"

"When you don't know what's real and what's not real out there, when you're questioning it, step outside. If you don't want to go out, then _don't_ go out," he said simply. "But if you're questioning it…knowing is better than not knowing."

"But-"

"Is he your boyfriend? The guy from the restaurant?"

I nodded instinctively. Then, I tried not to flinch under his unwavering gaze. After a few moments, Edward merely nodded in return, his expression inscrutable, eyes unreadable.

"Then ask _him_ , ask anyone who you care for…and who you _trust_ , to step out with you. You don't always have to explore alone, but knowing is better than not knowing, and maybe had _I_ remembered that last year... Anyway."

His hand fell away, and he took a step back, reclaiming the warmth of his proximity.

"Come on." He jerked his head toward the building behind him and guided me toward it with the barest hint of his fingers against the small of my back. "We're here."

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **The second part will post tomorrow. :)**

 **Facebook (for teasers, pics, discussions, etc): Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

 **"See" you soon. :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.**

 **A wonderful guest reviewer pointed out to me how perfect it is that this update, where Bella begins to claim her answers and reclaim what's hers, is posting today, on International Women's Day. Thank you, so much, lovely Guest Reviewer. That actually made me smile.**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes belong to me as well.**

* * *

 **Break - Chapter 13**

In the building lobby, a tall, brawny man wearing a lab coat and a man-bun rushed Edward.

"Where've you been, man? We spoke over an hour ago."

"Shit, Em." Edward chuckled. I watched him furtively glance at his watch and make a face. "Sorry. I lost track of time."

"You sure as hell did."

Despite the rebuke, the man-bun wearer also wore a friendly grin. He and Edward leaned in and exchanged mutual shoulder pats, and wanting to provide them at least some privacy, I took a few steps back until I blended in with the rest of the lobby traffic.

"Is that mine?" Edward jerked his jaw toward a manila folder the man-bun wearer carried under his arm. But when he reached for it, the man moved it just out of Edward's reach.

"Yep. All ready and waiting, but first, tell me what part of ' _I'll be there in a few to pick up the results myself,'_ did I misunderstand? Just curious." He cradled his jaw between his thumb and forefinger; waiting.

In turn, Edward's jaw tightened. "Just give me the folder."

The man lifted the folder high above his head.

"Seriously?" Edward snapped. "How old are you?"

I suppressed a chuckle.

"Tell me why you were late."

"Just give me the damn-" When Edward reached for the folder, the man swiftly switched the package to his other arm, and Edward dropped his hand, digging both into his pockets. "Emmett, have the results changed in the last fifteen minutes?"

"No," the man snickered.

"Did the strain mutate? Sprout wings? Grow legs or something similar?"

The man chuckled heartily. "You know it didn't. It's just this isn't like you – at all. _You're_ usually the one rushing everyone, keeping yourself and everyone busy and focused, trying to save the world for everyone else while your life…"

The man must've noted my approach in his periphery because he trailed off as his gaze swept to me, eyes narrowing in curiosity yet his expression still full of mirth. Edward followed his colleague's gaze and smiled apologetically when I stepped to his side.

"I'm sorry, Bella. This'll just take a moment."

"No problem." I waved away Edward's apology, but when I turned to address his colleague, the latter stared at me through rounded eyes, and with a slightly open jaw.

"Hi..." I began, reading his name off the lapel on his lab coat, "Dr. McCarty? I'm sorry. It's my fault it took Edward a bit to get here. As you can see, my legs are much shorter than his," I chuckled, pointing at my legs as proof. "Plus, I had a bit of a run-in with a Wall-Street-tycoon sort who was in a rush, so…" I shrugged, "again, I apologize for our lateness."

The man shut his mouth. He blinked more than a handful of times. Then, he frowned.

"I'm sorry, but did Edward just call you…'Bella?'"

" _Yes,"_ I said.

His eyes flashed between Edward and me, appearing bewildered.

Edward sighed. "Bella, this is a colleague and friend of mine, Emmett McCarty. Emmett this is Bella – Bella Swan."

He kept staring, but in the next moment, he cleared his throat, and his hand shot out.

"Bella, it's wonderful to meet you."

"It's great to meet you too, Doctor McCarty," I said as we shook hands. When we pulled away, he lifted a palm between us.

"Please, just Emmett."

"Okay. Emmett." I smiled. "Emmett, Edward has mentioned you a couple of times."

Emmett offered me a languid nod. "Yeah. Yeah, he's mentioned you once or…twice." His mouth twitched.

"Are you an epidemiologist as well?"

"No," Emmett said. "No, I'm a microbiologist. It's a job a thousand times more important than that of an epidemiologist. We're the ones who figure out what the hell are those little suckers that make people sick."

Edward snorted. "And we're the ones who figure out how to keep those suckers from spreading."

"The CDC in a nutshell?"

Again, Emmett just stared at me. For a second, I thought I'd offended him and the vital work they apparently performed, but then he broke out into fits of laughter.

"Shit. Yeah. Exactly! The CDC in a nutshell!"

While Emmett's amusement continued, I looked at Edward, who shook his head and rolled his eyes. When I looked at Emmett again, he'd stopped laughing. Instead, he smiled.

"All right, then," Emmett said, slapping the folder against Edward's chest. "I forgive you for making me wait down here for a bit. Here are your results. They're exactly as you suspected, but give me a call later and let me know what you're thinking. Wait! Actually, don't…do _not_ rush too much," he stressed.

"I thought you said you needed my input right away," Edward said.

"Yeah, but like I said, it's basically what you and I already discussed, and besides, I'm in meetings for the rest of the afternoon. Either way, we won't be able to touch base until this evening anyhow, and nothing'll get decided until we're in Atlanta in a couple of days."

"All right. Thanks, Emmett," Edward said. "I'll take a look at these and give you a call this evening."

Emmett shot Edward a thumbs-up. "Sounds like a plan." Then, with a broad grin, the former shifted his focus to me. Again, he offered me a handshake.

"Bella, it was truly…the highlight of my day to meet you."

"It was good to meet you too, Emmett," I smiled in return.

"I hope to see you again?" he wondered.

My eyes met Edward's for a moment, but I quickly swept them back to Emmett. "Maybe. Who knows?"

OOOOO

When we were outside, Edward angled his head up to the sky and drew in a long breath.

"I'm sorry. It appears this may have been a waste of time."

"I don't think so," I contradicted. "Besides," I said, checking my watch, "we still have some time."

Edward looked at me and nodded. "We do. The sandwiches next door are pretty good. We could pick up a couple and…finish our talk."

I nodded slowly. "Sounds like a plan."

OOOOO

Though neither of us actually suggested it, we picked up our sandwiches, and lost in conversation, we ended up walking to the riverfront. Unlike earlier, when we initially set out from the coffee shop, our side by side stroll wasn't nearly as uncomfortable. Yet, a different sort of tension crackled in the narrow space between us. Coffee had been consumed, errand run, sandwiches purchased and eaten. There were no further delays.

We ended up at the seaport, a once a popular tourist destination, now given way to offices and high-rises. It was once the sight of a busy fish market, and decades later, the smell of fish still lingered in the air. It was also directly across the river from Brooklyn's newly emerging port, even more popular than the Seaport now was. With the majestic Brooklyn Bridge connecting both ends, the view was almost unparalleled downtown.

Edward and I sat side by side on a set of broad, wooden bleachers situated in front of the water for optimal viewing. Street performers once juggled pinballs, spun on their heads, and performed similar feats of wonder before these bleachers.

Now, except for the odd passers-by or tourists, Edward and I were the only ones here. As we silently took in the view, Edward removed his blazer and carefully set it around my shoulders.

"Edward-"

"You're shivering," he murmured. "In theory, the spot was a good idea, private enough for a talk without…" he trailed off.

I was indeed shivering, but it was from more than the riverfront breeze. Nevertheless, with an unrestrained sigh, I melted into a warmth that shouldn't have been as comforting and a scent that shouldn't have been as familiar.

"How about you?" I argued weakly. "Won't you be cold?"

Edward snorted. "Trust me- I mean, I'm fine."

Lacking both the strength or desire to shrug it off, I pulled the blazer tightly around me.

"Thank you. This does feel much better."

"We can go somewhere indoors if you'd-"

"No. No, I'm good now."

"Good." He raked a hand through his hair and offered me a smile before twisting back around and knitting his hands together in the space between his long legs. We both faced forward, where the afternoon sun sparkled over the dark river.

"So…you and Emmett seem like good friends in addition to colleagues."

Edward chuckled. "Yeah. Yeah, we are. We went to med school together. We've been friends and colleagues for a while. Em's been there through…a couple of hard times. He's a good guy."

"He appears it," I agreed. When I looked over at him, Edward appeared lost in thought.

"Does he travel a lot as well?"

Edward nodded. "A lot of our mutual work is dependent on that of the other's."

"Though he'll say his work is more important," I teased.

Edward smirked. "Yes, he will."

I chuckled. "When he said…when he said you'd mentioned me once or twice…"

He turned and met my gaze, the bright sun reflecting off his green eyes.

"I told him about you, yes."

"How much did you tell him?"

Edward exhaled. "Enough for him to tell me I behaved like a total asshole and risked you…and lost you due to my own actions."

"Edward-"

"The truth is he's the closest friend I have – closer than family – but I didn't tell him _everything_ , Bella. There are things I'd only ever share with you, and I _should've_ shared them earlier."

My heart pounded. I had to drop my eyes before I could continue.

"Then, share them, Edward."

Silence.

"Bella, I-"

"I remember you told me once, before I knew who your family was, that you weren't close to them."

"It was true."

"I'm close to my dad."

"I know," he murmured softly. "I remember you talking about him fondly. I sensed the respect you had for him. It's…harder for me to respect my father, even though he's a well-known and highly-respected surgeon."

"I do recall your…." I swallowed, "your sister mentioning that about him."

Edward was quiet for a few moments.

"I think initially, that's why I took a job that had me travel so much."

"To get away from your dad?"

He turned sideways and angled himself toward me, his eyes on our feet. "It was a bit more than that. The whole environment…" he shook his head, "him and my mother and my…sister."

"You don't speak much of your mom – and neither do I," I acknowledged in the same breath.

"I've noticed that too," he breathed.

"My mom hasn't been much involved in my life."

"Well, I can't say that about my mother. She's always been there. It's just…"

Edward sighed, and the air he expelled between us warmed my chilled hands. His foot kicked away a gathering of small, gray pebbles at our feet, and I watched them tumble to the steps below us. They skipped and bounced around for a bit before scattering into the cool, fall breeze.

"That day…" he breathed.

"That day…" I murmured after another pause.

He drew in a breath and met my eyes. "That day, I was visiting Alice out of…an old sense of guilt."

I held his gaze, swallowing past the dryness in my throat, struggling to keep my own breaths even, while my heart raced and bumped hard against my rib cage. By this point, old friends with fight or flight, I recognized the trigger and the corresponding self-preservation instinct: that natural, physiological reaction that always manifested itself at conversation regarding _her_ and "That Day." And even as I craved answers, even as I fought flight in favor of fight, a massive part of me railed against the questions. But I had to ask them.

"Why did you feel guilty, Edward?"

Another pause.

"She and I…even before that day, we weren't close to begin with. She's seven years my junior."

Edward's gaze shifted. He pinned it to some point in the distance, maybe the fluid, sparkling river; maybe the brick and mortar bridge above it. Maybe he saw something else altogether.

"So…the age difference," I said after a long pause, "it's why you weren't close?"

Edward pursed his lips and shook his head. "It was a bit more complicated than that. I tried not to, I mean I tried to…" Again, his eyes met mine, and I watched as their natural translucency hardened. When he spoke, his voice held no hint of its usual warmth.

"Bella, one of my earliest memories is back from when I was seven-years-old. We lived uptown then, my mom, my dad and me. Mom was just getting her fashion company off the ground, so though she ran around a lot, she was usually home to get me off the school bus. When she knew she wasn't going to be home, she'd ask our neighbor, a woman named Elizabeth, to get me off the bus. Then, I'd wait with _Aunt Lizzy_ , as I called her back then," he scowled, "until my mom came home."

For some reason, my heart pounded all the harder.

"Anyway," Edward continued, "that day when I got off the school bus, I was surprised because no one was waiting for me by the curb. Which was fine. I knew how to get to our apartment," he smirked. "But…when I got upstairs, I was further surprised by the sound of my mom's voice."

"Why did her voice surprise you?"

"Because it didn't sound like her. She sounded upset…or in pain. Stupid, seven-year-old me couldn't tell the difference."

"Don't call yourself that," I said, but Edward was too deep into his story now to pay me any mind.

"So, I pushed further into the apartment, honestly fucking scared by that point." He chuckled self-consciously, his voice shaking. "But when I spotted my dad hovering over the couch…Bella, I felt so relieved," he grinned, his glare obviously somewhere in his past. "The fear immediately vanished because it was my _dad_. Like I said, my dad's a surgeon – a fucking good one, whose time has always been in high demand. So, even though, in the back of my head, I was also surprised to find him home early, I knew everything was going to be just fine. Whatever was wrong with Mom, Dad would fix. The thing is…" his nostrils flared, "the thing is, the asshole was surprised to see me too."

When my breath hitched, Edward snorted. A peculiar and bitter grin I'd never seen him wear twisted his features. It made me shiver in what was already a blustery, tempestuous afternoon. Underneath his blazer and my jacket, I felt the fine hairs on my arms stand on end.

"What does that mean, Edward, and what does any of it have to do with that day or with…with us?"

Edward looked at me, and for a long while, his glacial gaze remained locked on mine. He dropped his head in the space between us and knit his hands together above it.

"Fuck," he spat.

"Edward?"

He didn't reply.

"Edward...what did you see?"

Even with his head hanging, I saw the fury etched deep into the lines marring his forehead, reflected in the angry rise and fall of his chest.

"Oh, Edward," I choked, instinctively reaching for one of his hands, which had grown cold and clammy. I wrapped mine over it, slid my fingers in between his and brought them, entwined as one, onto my lap. "Edward, I'm here with you. Tell me what you saw. Tell me," I coaxed gently. "If there's anyone who can understand-"

His eyes shot up. " _Why_ do you think it's so hard for me to speak of this with you?"

"Don't do that," I pleaded. "Look…I know when we met at the coffee shop the other day, I said…I said I wasn't a china doll back then, and you should've told me the truth. And while yes, you should've told me the truth…maybe what I said wasn't _exactly_ the truth either. Maybe I was more sensitive back then than I realized, but please don't treat me like that now."

Edward pulled in a breath that expanded his chest. "It wasn't my mother, as I'm sure you've guessed."

Despite what I'd just said, and despite the accuracy of his statement – I _had_ already guessed - hearing Edward say it so matter-of-factly tore through me.

"Edward, you sweet, little boy," I said, picturing a seven-year-old Edward walking in on something so horrendous.

Edward snorted. "He scrambled to get up, to straighten his clothes, hissing furiously at _Aunt Lizzy_ to do the same as if he could somehow salvage the situation. I mean, I wasn't that stupid," he chuckled bitterly.

"Edward, you were seven. You weren't stupid at all. You should've never been in that situation."

"And _you_ should've?" he countered, a deep frown marking his forehead.

"It was different. I was much older, and I should've seen the signs."

"Bella, don't you dare."

I shook my head. "This isn't about me."

"It's _completely_ about you. It's why that damn day…"

When he shut his eyes and turned away from me again, I instinctively pressed my palm against his cold cheek. A series of uneven sighs escaped him, but in the next moment, he lifted his hand and pulled mine away, placing it gently on my own lap.

Pain and mortification lanced through me like a sharp spear. I blinked back tears of shame.

"S…Sorry. I just…"

"No, Bella, please don't apologize. _Never_ apologize to me." His ensuing smile didn't reach his eyes. "You felt sympathy, and you wanted to offer comfort. And I get it, and I appreciate it, but I think we both know your sympathy is never what I wanted, and it's better if we don't go down that road."

I swallowed hard against the painful lump his words lodged in my throat. My hand burned, and I curled it tightly on my lap, nails digging into the skin to feel something other than the ache in my chest.

"Okay. So," I cleared the shakiness out of my voice, "how does this tie in with us…and all that happened decades later in a lobby?"

"How does it tie in?" Edward echoed, raking a hand through his hair. "Well, to make a long, complicated part of the story short, my dad couldn't apologize enough to me or ask Elizabeth to leave fast enough. He confessed it all to my mother when she got home; I'll give him that. Though, to this day, he swears it was the first and last time. I'm still not sure I believe that, nor do I really know that it makes much difference."

"One time or a hundred times, it doesn't erase what you saw."

"No, it doesn't. Nonetheless, my mom forgave him."

Once again, he went silent.

"You don't think she should've," I said after a long pause.

He shrugged. "Maybe if _I_ hadn't seen it," he said, his slightly crooked nostrils flaring. "Maybe then I could understand her forgiveness."

"And maybe if _she'd_ seen it…" All the while, the image of Jasper's bare ass gyrating and pushing into Edward's sister filled my mind, "then she wouldn't have forgiven him. But then again, he claimed it was the only time, and he actually asked for forgiveness."

"Would you have taken…Jasper back under those conditions?"

I held his gaze. "Let's proceed in order here; we're still nowhere near that lobby."

His Adam's apple bobbed, and he nodded. "Fair enough." He sighed and expelled a long breath through narrowed lips. "Either way, first time or hundredth time, he was either really lucky or really unlucky, depending on how you see it."

An eternal moment transpired, while the air around us grew thick and oppressive and Edward's gaze held mine.

"Elizabeth got pregnant."

He confirmed it with a slow nod and a cold, sardonic grin. "And he got a bouncing baby girl, and I got a little sister."

"Oh my God," I murmured, shutting my eyes. "Your poor mom…"

"You can't blame the kid though, can you?"

Eyes still shut, my mind wandered to another baby, one I'd never seen, but who I could picture clearly if I tried, which I rarely did: little Jasper James Hale Junior. I'd never seen him, but by all accounts, he was the spitting image of his father. By then, he was nearing eighteen months.

"I tried to hate him," I whispered aloud.

"What?" Edward asked.

Swallowing, I opened my eyes and met Edward's gaze through eyes full of guilt and shame.

"Your…your nephew. They call him JJ, right?"

Edward nodded once.

"When I heard he'd been born, I tried to hate him. I wanted to hate him, to blame everything on him. Had she not gotten pregnant with him…had I gotten pregnant with him...? _Why_ did he go to her and not to me? Irrational thoughts," I snorted, "as if the child had any choice. As if he asked for any of it. When every time I pictured him, I saw a small, innocent baby. When all I'd ever dreamed of for the past three years by then…was a baby of my own."

Silent tears streaked my face at confessions I'd never spoken aloud, not even with Rose. Monstrous thoughts. Yet Edward's eyes weren't full of the shock nor of the disgust I was sure such a confession would've caused.

"Bella…God, if I could…" He lifted a hand and extended it toward my tears, and as much as it killed me, I forced them and myself out of his reach.

"What was it that you just said? I don't want your sympathy either, Edward."

"Sympathy was never… _never_ what I felt for you," he hissed furiously. "Not even in that lobby. Not even when-"

"Please," I said in a strangled whisper, "let's continue in order."

He sighed, "I suppose my mom must've seen things similarly. Though Alice grew up with Elizabeth, from her infancy, my father… _our_ father took responsibility for her. And I suppose I'll give him that as well," Edward added begrudgingly. "We moved, obviously, but Alice spent weekends with us, holidays and longer periods as she grew older and, since Carlisle's career responsibilities increased, my mom took increasing care of Alice."

"What was your relationship with her like as children?" I wondered.

His jaw tightened, and he scrubbed it hard with his palm. "And _that_ is where the guilt comes in."

"You never forgave her," I said.

"Bella, I don't know," he confessed, shaking his head and dropping his gaze to the space between us once again. "I tried. I did try not to blame her for any of it, but…she was always so difficult to get along with."

"Difficult how?"

He lifted his eyes to me again. "She was spoiled, Bella. Her mother, obviously not the best role model to begin with," he snorted, "filled her head with all manner of...shit," he spat. My father's guilt meant he rarely said 'no' to her. My mother and even I tried, but..."

"Seven years her senior or not, Edward," I said gently, "it wasn't your job to raise your younger sister."

"I know, but she was my sister. And I did try to be there for her, but once Alice reached a certain age, she grew increasingly resentful and disrespectful. By that time," he shrugged, "I was off in college. Whenever I did see her afterward, we'd grow further apart. Either way, I tried to tell my dad to stop fucking spoiling her, but he never listened."

"It was a bad situation all around, but Edward," I said, "this doesn't make me forgive her. Not at all."

"Do you think that's what I'm trying to do?" he asked, his tone full of disbelief. "Do you think I'm telling you this so that you can forgive her? Jesus."

He stood up rapidly, his steps fast and furious as he descended the bleachers and strode toward the waterfront a few feet away. The thick, steel railing separated him from the river, and I was grateful for that because he stormed off in such a haze of outrage, I wasn't sure he would've been able to halt himself before he hit the water.

"Edward, stop."

As furiously as he'd stormed off, he rushed back to me, stood before me and dropped his fierce, green eyes to my level.

"You want to go in order, I know, but do you know one of the things that made me respect you from the first moment?"

"Respect me in that moment?" I snorted sarcastically? "What, Edward?"

"Your righteous fury," he snapped in return. "You earned that fury, and they deserved your goddamn wrath. I watched that scene play out-"

"And you saw your mother-"

"No," he hissed. "No. I saw a strong, brave woman, and God, I would've kept you safe had I been able."

"But it wasn't your job to keep me safe – not in that lobby, and not a year later."

He groaned and turned around, fisting his hair with both hands, throwing his head back. For a long while, Edward just stood there, a few feet from me, gripping his hair, scrubbing a hand down his face. And I watched it all.

He swallowed hard. "I know. I know it wasn't my job. Not then…and obviously not now."

With a snort, he dropped his head and shook it from side to side, remaining that way so when I descended the bleachers and stood in front of him, my voice surprised him.

"Edward, why are you putting yourself through this?"

His head shot up, startled.

"You have so much on your plate," I said, my voice shaking. "Do you think I don't realize how urgent and important what you're doing at work right now is? _I_ need answers to move forward. _I_ need to clean up my database. What do _you_ get from this?"

He dropped his head back and snorted miserably, shut his eyes, and shook his head. "I suppose I have no one to blame but myself when you wonder at my intentions."

"Help me understand you the way you understand me," I whispered.

I don't really know what I expected…what I wanted to hear him say in return.

When he reopened his eyes, they were scorching. "I get to give you closure, even if that means you erase me from your database once and for all so that you can move on with-"

Up on the bleachers, my phone vibrated loudly.

"Shit," I said, suddenly realizing it felt much longer than an hour or so since Edward and I met up. What's more, the sun had changed position, moved further westward, it's glow more peach than lemon.

"Shit," I repeated as I scaled the bleachers.

"Damn it," I heard Edward breathe behind me.

I picked up my phone and read the missed texts.

From Embry:

 **Bella, just let me know if you want me to close up, okay? Nothing major came up. Brady stopped by, looking for you. Told him you went out to lunch and then you may have mentioned some errands, I wasn't sure. Don't worry, I got you, girl. ;)**

From Brady:

 **Hey, Beautiful, where are you? I stopped by the workshop.**

 **Bella, where are you?**

 **Just let me know you're okay. A bit worried here.**

From Rose:

 **Hey, B. I'm seriously considering having no baby shower. Vera's mom is driving me up the wall. In-laws suck. Call me.**

From Makenna:

 **Bee, everything okay? Brady has texted me twice to see if I know where you are. Just shoot either of us a quick text to-**

Having gotten the gist of it, I typed out a quick reply to Makenna.

 **Mack, I'm fine. I was out with a friend and lost track of time. I'll text Brady in a few. Thanks.**

"Everything okay?" Edward asked, climbing the bleachers to meet me.

"Yeah," I said as I finished typing out my message. "Just missed a few texts from people wondering where the hell I've been all afternoon."

"Mm," Edward replied shortly. I threw my phone back in my bag and looked up at him. "Sorry. I guess I've lost track of time all day today."

"It's not your fault," I smiled. "I lost track too."

"I suppose you have to go?"

"Yeah," I answered quietly. "I do."

"Yeah, so do I. Em and I may have discussed these results, but there are a couple of other people whose input I should probably seek."

I nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

He nodded in return. Yet, for one, long moment, neither of us made a move to go. Finally, I sighed and removed the blazer from around my shoulders and handed it to Edward with quiet thanks. Then, I picked up my purse.

"Uhm…there's still more-"

"There is," Edward said, shrugging into the blazer. "I know."

"Can we meet again in a couple of days?"

"No," Edward said, shaking his head in both an apologetic and dejected manner. "No, unfortunately, I have to be in Atlanta in a couple of days."

"Oh, that's right." I frowned glumly.

"But…we can meet next week if you'd like?"

I smiled, and the relief that suddenly flooded me from head to toe warmed me after the loss of Edward's blazer.

"I would like that."

A slow, hesitant smile lifted one corner of Edward's mouth. "Okay," he said. "I'll call you as soon as I return."

"Okay."

We gazed quietly at one another. The setting sun fell over Edward's form, much as it had earlier, highlighting his hair, his eyes… He reached for me and pulled me into his warm arms, brushed his lips against the top of my hair as I slid my arms around his waist, and squeezed my eyes shut.

"It was never sympathy, Bella," he murmured, his mouth moving against the top of my head, "never sympathy I wanted between us."

I pulled away suddenly, and when I walked away, I didn't look back.

I wasn't sure if I could've walked away from what I might've found.

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **Facebook (for teasers, pics, discussions, etc.): Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter (for updates): PattyRosa817**

" **See" you soon. :)**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.**

 **With Social Media around the world acting nutty for the past couple of days, I'm trying to post this before the cyber apocalypse worsens, and (gasp!) Fanfiction goes down as well! ;)**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine too.**

 **Break - Ch 14**

* * *

I swallowed back the last of my morning coffee and grimaced as it burned going down. Quickly washing the mug and setting it on the dish rack, I took a glance at the small, muted TV on the kitchen counter to confirm the mid-November morning forecast, and shrugged into my jacket.

"Mack, I'm leaving! Coffee's ready! See you later!"

Mack's indecipherable reply filtered in from the bathroom, but confident it was some form of acknowledgment, I picked the remote off the counter and pointed it at the TV.

The all-too-familiar face on the screen had me digging my thumb into the 'Volume' button instead of switching off the screen.

He was in the middle of another interview, and in response to whatever the journalist had just said, Edward shook his head. Though he smiled, I noted the tick of frustration just over his right eye and the silent exhalation which followed. Dark circles rung his vibrantly green eyes. He wore a lab coat, and as I took in his background – a laboratory packed with flasks, microscopes, and other men and women in various states of activity, I wondered how many hours it had been since Edward last slept.

"No. Whoever hasn't yet received this season's flu vaccine should most definitely receive that inoculation as soon as possible. This new vaccine will only be for one specific strain," he stressed. "Therefore, to ensure the maximum protection possible against influenza this season, everyone should receive two inoculations," – he held up one long finger first – "the original, vaccine," – then he held up a second finger – "and the booster vaccine, which is currently being prepared and should hopefully be available by month's end."

"Doctor Cullen, I understand that the particular strain for which the booster is being prepared wasn't included in the original vaccine, but does it really warrant another inoculation? I mean, I don't even like receiving one shot, much less two." The pretty, young journalist – the same one who'd interviewed him a few weeks earlier – laughed and reached out, swatting Edward's foot, which he had crossed over his long leg.

"Oh, come on. Seriously?" I berated the screen. "Did she just do that?"

On screen, Edward raised an eyebrow, dropped his foot, and sat up straighter.

"Unfortunately, yes," he replied coolly, "the strain does warrant another inoculation."

"Yes, bitch, it does warrant another one. He's told you this before. Get it-"

"Bee, are you fighting with the TV?"

I spun around and caught Makenna walking into the kitchen in her terry robe and shower cap. She offered me a curious grin as she made her way to the waiting coffee pot.

"Oh." I waved a hand at the TV. "It's just he's trying to convey important info about the flu, and she's trying to flirt."

Makenna's gaze panned to the TV. She took a seat and sipped her coffee. "Hm," she hummed from behind the mug's rim. "I can see why. He's a hottie doctor."

Pursing my lips, I returned my gaze to the TV. While I'd told Makenna about Edward, it was all over a year ago, and only in the vaguest terms. Therefore, as much as she obviously appreciated the sight of the doctor on TV, Mack had no idea who he was beyond some CDC guy.

"He's actually more of a scientist than a doctor."

Mack's eyes flashed up to me. Thankfully, my phone vibrated just then. I pulled it out of my bag and stealthily evaded Mack's questioning gaze. When I read the name on the screen, I smiled at Makenna and made my way out of the kitchen.

"I'm going to work."

"All right, Bee. See ya later."

"See you later, Mack," I called out while I answered the call. "Hello?"

Dead air greeted me.

"Hello? Edward?" I double-checked the caller ID, positive it was his name which had flashed across my phone, as I stepped out into the breezy morning.

A throat cleared. "Hey…Bella. Sorry. It sounds like I'm interrupting." His voice was as surprisingly crisp as was the air around me.

"No. I'm just heading to work. What's up?"

His initial words were hesitant, even uneasy, but with each successive sentence, they grew colder and harsher, and he ended with more than a hint of ire.

"Uh…I was just…just calling to confirm we're still on for our lunch date- excuse me, I mean _meeting_ tomorrow. I apologize again if I interrupted anything, but I won't be back in New York until the early hours of the morning, and I wanted to double-check now rather than show up at the coffee shop and find you're not there because you realized you don't need a damn thing from me after all."

As his speech wore on, my brisk pace automatically decelerated, so that by the end, my feet stopped altogether. Then my first impulse was to tell him to go fuck himself if _he_ realized he didn't want to help me after all.

But then…I recalled the exhausted man on TV.

Edward had his own life, and apparently, much more going on in it than I could've imagined. And based on what I did know, he was immensely busy, working around the clock on urgent deadlines, on matters of actual life and death. He had so much riding on his shoulders, and here I was, a woman popped-up from his past, who kicked a hornet's nest and stirred up shitty memories for us both, and who was _still_ asking him to take time out from his life to help me clean up my fucked-up database.

When I replied, my voice was full of remorse instead of acrimony.

"Yes, Edward. We're still on unless something has come up for you. I know you've got a lot on your plate right now, and I understand if you can't make it tomorrow. We can…" I gazed out on the busy, weekday morning and swallowed past the lump of disappointment lodged in my throat. "We can reschedule for another time, whenever's more convenient for you."

A rush of air suddenly filled the invisible phone lines between us.

"Jesus. Bella…" Edward breathed. "I'm so damn sorry. I don't want to reschedule."

"You want to completely cancel?" I choked.

" _No_ ," he stressed. "God, no."

I gripped my hair. "Then, I'm confused. You sound extremely frustrated, Edward."

"I am frustrated," he said hoarsely. "I'm frustrated, and I'm pissed off at myself, and I can barely see through the haze of… But those are all my issues to deal with, not yours."

I frowned. "Now I really don't understand."

"I'm sorry. Honestly, I just called to hear…I just called to confirm for tomorrow. I didn't mean to act like a prick."

Even without the plethora of apologies, his remorse was loud and clear, and…and I didn't want to hear any more of it.

"Actually, I saw you on TV this morning," I said, changing the subject. "You looked…as frustrated as you sound right now," I added with a quiet chuckle.

He groaned, and I could almost see him raking a hand through his dark hair.

"Those damn interviews. I don't think they're going well at all. I don't seem to be getting the fact across that there will be two-"

"Two inoculations, not one," I finished for him as I resumed my walk. "The initial flu vaccine and the upcoming booster. You're getting it across, Edward. Don't worry about that. It's just the particular journalist who looks like she wants…to play games."

He chuckled. "Okay. Good. Bella, I really am sorry about my shitty attitude."

"I get it, Edward. You're under a lot of stress at work."

"It wasn't the work stress, Bella. I've lied to you enough-"

"Edward, stop."

"-and I'd be lying again if I allowed you to believe work stress caused my temper to flare just now." He sighed. "But like I said, that's my problem. It doesn't need to be yours. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"All right, Edward." I sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow."

OOOOO

"So, guess who called me this morning?" I said.

Rose, Vera, and I were having lunch at a small creperie around the corner of my workshop. Nearing six months pregnant now, Rose had been craving crepes all week, and Vera and I complied with her every wish – not that Rose would ever take advantage. Not everyone was an idiot or an asshole. There were those who were in-between. I had learned that much.

"Whenever anyone says, 'Guess who called me this morning?,' the answer's obviously going to be something no one can guess. So why don't we cut to the chase, and you just tell us who called you?"

Though she wouldn't take advantage, the pregnancy had Rose in a serious mood lately. Vera and I both stared at her and then at one another.

"You know, _Someone_ once told me most people lay somewhere in between the idiot and asshole spectrum, but lately, that same _Someone's_ been more…"

"Oh, shut up," Rose smirked.

I burst out laughing, and when Rose scowled at me, I laid my hand over hers on the table.

"I'm just kidding. No, not really, but please don't un-godmother me."

Vera chuckled. "Don't worry, Bella. She needs a unanimous vote for that."

"See? Vera still loves me."

"Are we waiting for Baby Beck to join us before you finally tell us who called you?" Rose asked.

"Oh my God. _What a bitch_ ," I mouthed at Vera none-too-discreetly. She snickered. "Fine, Rose. Since you don't want to play along, it was my sweet little agent of one, Jessica Stanley who called. Remember her?"

"Jessica Stanley? She's still your agent?" Vera asked. "You haven't mentioned her in months, Bella. I thought you'd kicked her to the curb."

"I'm not the curb-kicking type. Besides, I haven't mentioned her because I haven't heard from her."

"Just what one wants from an agent," Rose teased. "Total silence."

"Not _total_ silence. She sends me periodic emails here and there, assuring me she's working hard on my behalf, getting my manuscript into the hands of the _best_ publishers out there."

"Oh, it shows. Bella, we know you're not the curb-kicking type," Vera said, "but you need better representation, my love."

I chewed my crepe. "There's more."

"Must we guess that too?" Rose asked.

"God forbid," I grinned. "No. Apparently, we've got a meeting with some publisher or other the day after tomorrow."

Here, Rose and Vera both set down their crepes.

"Get out," Vera said.

"Why didn't you just start off with that?" Rose added, rubbing her bump. "Which publisher?"

"Jessica wants to surprise me." I smiled around a piece of swiss and ham. "She just told me where and when to show up."

Their mutual excitement appeared to diminish.

"Like we said," Rose said, "you need a better agent."

I laughed.

"What does Brady say?" Vera asked.

I shrugged and took another bite of my crepe, pulling off the toasted pieces of cheese that had oozed out of the crepe.

"I haven't told him yet."

"Really?" Vera asked.

"Really." I smiled up at her. "No point in sharing with everyone just yet."

Vera frowned. "But…you just-" she suddenly jumped in her seat. Then, she cleared her throat. "So, what else did Jessica say?"

We talked a bit more about my agent of one, then we switched to the topic of Thanksgiving the following week. Once more, Rose and Vera invited me to spend the holiday with them, but I reminded them I was flying to Washington to see my dad.

Vera left first. She kissed her wife, and as soon as she was through the door, I quirked an eyebrow in Rose's direction.

"Poor Vera'll probably be sporting a bruise from how hard you dug your elbow into her ribs."

Rose chuckled guiltily. "Hey, I get kicked in the ribs all day. She'll live."

We held one another's gaze.

"I've been talking to Edward."

With a sigh and a look of longing, Rose set down the last bit of her crepe. The look she then gave me, however, held little surprise. She smiled softly, more like the Rose I knew than the six-months-pregnant She-Devil she'd been a few minutes earlier.

"I knew there was something going on. I wasn't sure what exactly, but…it explains a few things."

"Like what a bitch I'm being with Brady?"

"You're not being a bitch."

"I'm a mess."

"You're not a mess."

"My database is a mess."

"Ah." She nodded slowly, instantly understanding the reference – one of only two people in my world who did. "The database. _That_ …perhaps, might need some upkeep."

"He wasn't good for me," I said, shaking my head. "Not then, and…why would it have changed now, right? I just need answers. That's all. And he's been…he's been good about providing them so far. He has. He's been open…and honest and..." I swallowed. "But that doesn't mean… What's different now? Nothing is different. The same conditions which made _us_ impossible back then are still what would make _us_ impossible now, right? Then there was the fact that he lied to me back then, but…it was all so fucked up; for _both_ of us."

Rose held my gaze.

"But why can't I get him out of my head? If it's so impossible, why is his file still so important?"

For one long moment, Rose said nothing. "That's the sort of question which gets answered by clearing up that database."

"I know," I smiled faintly. "But thank you, Rose, for talking me through the rest."

Rose leaned across the table and offered me another tender smile.

"Bella, _I_ barely opened my mouth. _You're_ figuring this out. You've had the tools for a while now. I'm your friend, but I'm not your therapist any longer."

I swallowed thickly. "If we were to blur the lines just once," I whispered pleadingly, "just once before I lose my mind, what would Dr. Rose advise?"

Rose exhaled an audible breath. "Dr. Rose would remind you that certain people and certain memories will always be your triggers, Bella. But luckily, you've learned coping mechanisms for them…which does imply that they're not good for your mental health."

I looked away from her and through the window to hide the weak tremble of my bottom lip.

"Hey," she said softly, squeezing my hand until I turned back to her. "That's what Dr. Rose, your professional _therapist_ , might've said. Rose Lane-Stevens, your best _friend_ , knows that the mind can't always overrule the heart," she whispered. "And all I can tell you as your friend, my love, is that you can learn all new coping mechanisms when you must, when the heart simply wants what it wants. The rest is up to you."

OOOOO

The next day, Edward and I met again at the coffee shop.

Instead of our usual table, he'd chosen a table all the way at the back, far from everyone and everything. After he pulled out my chair, he mumbled something about picking up our coffees. When he returned, he set the mugs down with only a nod in acknowledgment when I thanked him. The day was blustery and wet, and as we swirled our coffees, we both gazed through the window at the falling rain.

"It's a fitting day," he noted.

"Is it?" I wondered aloud. "It's a crappy day, the sort of day that makes it hard to leave your bed."

"Hmm," he mumbled. "Can't say I'd know about that." His eyes met mine, the green in them strangely clouded, as opaque as the sky that afternoon. "Though I assume by that statement you had a hard time extracting yourself today."

"No," I said. "I was pretty anxious to start the day. Knowing is better than not knowing, right?"

He nodded and held my gaze for a long moment. When he opened his mouth, the words which poured out didn't match his dark expression.

"You haven't touched your coffee."

I glanced down at my untouched mug. "Actually, I might order a latte. It's a latte kind of day."

He snorted and smiled. "I'll get if for you."

While he stood on line, I studied him. His long legs fidgeted back and forth, weight resting on one leg then the other. He sighed impatiently at the wait. I'd noted the bloodshot circles rimming his irises, the rings that had darkened under his eyes. His dark blazer was uncharacteristically wrinkled, and his button-down tucked haphazardly inside pants that rode lower than usual on his hips.

"What's wrong, Edward?" I asked when he returned.

He shrugged, avoiding my eyes. "It was a long week."

"You just got in this morning, right?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

I leaned in slightly, dropped my head into his line of vision hoping he'd meet my gaze.

"We really could've rescheduled."

"No point in delaying, is there?" He offered me an empty smile.

"Have you slept at all?"

"I slept on the train a bit, Bella." He sighed and raked his hair. "I'm fine."

I backed up, and for a while, we just kept swirling our drinks.

"Do you still practice your latte art?"

Edward snorted, but then a small, almost involuntary chuckle escaped him. "Bella Swan, you rarely say or act how I expect you to."

"I'm not sure what you're expecting today, Edward."

"Not a discussion on latte art. And no, I haven't practiced the art," he smirked, "in a while."

I picked up my mug and my small pitcher of milk. "Let's see."

I had vague recollections of the steps Edward performed when he used to try to impress me with his novice latte design skills. My eyes were rarely on the steps; they were on the lines of focus etched across his brow, the intensity in his gaze, the movement of his hands.

I held the cup carefully at an angle while balancing the pitcher high above it, and as I poured the steaming milk, I drew the mug higher then lower, simultaneously shifting the pitcher from side to side. The result was not latte art, per se.

Edward peeked over, and his eyes grew wide. Then, he barked a laugh.

"I would've never expected that of you, Bella," he said when he finally stopped laughing.

My face flamed, but I chuckled. "I swear that's not what I was going for. I don't even know how that happened."

"Mhm," he smirked.

"Hey," I said, feigning indignation, "you were the artist back then. I was merely the admirer."

"I was the artist, you were the admirer," he echoed with a slow nod. "You have that so backward. And from the little I know of you, you're still the creative one."

For some reason, that last statement made me flinch.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. Actually, speaking of creativity…"

I told him about Jessica Stanley and her phone call. As I explained it, Edward gave me one of those grins, the ones which started out small but then just grew and grew until they took over his entire face. Then he gazed at me with that open awe and wonder which had always warmed me from head to toe, and whose memory had almost launched me into another bout of depression when I believed it had all been a lie.

Now…now I had no idea what was going on.

"That's great, Bella. I knew it would happen for you. I always knew it."

I snorted. "Don't get too carried away. Though, I'll confess I _am_ excited, even more so than I let on with my friends, I don't want to get my hopes up."

"Why not?"

"Look, I'm sure you've noticed I don't deal well with deep disappointments."

His eyes narrowed. "So…what? You plan to go through the rest of your life without raising your hopes too high? That's not the Bella Swan I know."

"You _don't_ know me," I bristled. "You just said it yourself."

"That's not what I said, Bella," he said through clenched teeth, "not at all. I said I know very little of what you've been up to for the past year. That doesn't mean I don't know _you_."

The air between us ignited like a dangerous, combustible substance. Edward's slightly skewed nostrils flared, and he leaned in sharply over the table so that his eyes were only a few, short inches from mine.

"You can't have it both ways, Bella. You can't tell me no one knows you the way I do one day, and the next, when I say something that pulls you out of your comfort zone, tell me I don't know you. I _do_ know you," he growled quietly. "And if this is gonna be our last _meeting_ ," he said, tapping the table between us hard with his forefinger.

"Why would this be our last meeting?"

"You wanted answers, right? _Just_ answers?"

I swallowed hard.

"If this is going to be our last meeting," he reiterated, " _I'm_ not going to let you walk away spouting that lie to _me_." Now he dug the same finger into his chest. "I know you, Bella," he repeated through a clenched jaw.

"Then tell me how you know me so well," I spat.

Fire alighted his eyes, fiery and volatile. His chest rose and fell heavily. When he pulled back as suddenly as he'd leaned forward, the gray skies behind him opened, so that the rain pelting the window disguised the erratic pounding of my heart.

"You want to know how I know you? Fine."

We dove in, mutually angry and bewildered.

"That day, I arrived at Alice's building because I was leaving the country for work, and I knew I'd be gone for a few months. Like I said the last time you and I met, she and I never got along well. Whether that was mostly my fault or not I suppose doesn't really have much of a bearing on this part." He shrugged. "She'd been quiet for the last couple of months. Too quiet. I knew my sister, and I knew that likely meant trouble in one form or another. But then I started wondering if maybe it was just me. Maybe I was just a resentful asshole who couldn't see past what her mother and our father did."

"Edward, you're not-"

'And just because she was quiet didn't mean she was up to something she shouldn't be." He snorted and grinned wryly. "What's more, she was _working_ now. She had a great job at a small but well-respected publication, and while the pay wasn't great, it wasn't as if Alice needed the money. Neither of us needed to work for our money."

"Yet you work hard, Edward."

"Because I enjoy what I do. I've always enjoyed my job. It's a stressful job, yes, but I can immerse myself in it one hundred percent when I need to."

"And lately…you've needed to?"

He held my gaze. "You wanted to go in order, right?"

I nodded.

"Then, we'll get to that. So, I texted her and told her I'd be away for a while, and I wanted to stop by in case she wanted to…I don't know, talk? She never replied. And maybe I should've just fucking left without going to see her. Maybe I should've just…" He sighed and raked a hand through his hair, and when he spoke next, it sounded almost as if he was speaking mostly to himself. "Except, I don't believe that myself, do I?" Once again, his eyes met mine. "No more lies, right?"

"No more lies," I whispered.

"Before I even met you, Bella, long before That Day, I'd read some of your articles."

My head jerked back.

Edward's Adam's apple bobbed. "I wasn't stalking you, I promise. It was nothing like that. When she…when Alice first began working at _The High Line_ , she sent me some of your work. She said she'd be working for you, and she wanted to know what I thought of your writing."

My breaths erupted long and hard. "What did you reply?"

"I thought the articles were great. They were immersive, enlightening…captivating."

"And what did she say?"

"She said she thought she could do better."

I shook my head and snorted. "Did you read any of my articles toward the end?"

"Yes, I did," Edward admitted. "But I read them afterward, after everything that happened."

"They were shit, weren't they?"

"You'd been under a lot of stress."

I grinned wryly. "In other words, yes, they were shit, but thanks for trying to spare my feelings. Yes, she did write better than me then. Go on, Edward. That day, you arrived at her lobby to say goodbye, to possibly build a relationship, to move past your own guilt, to provide her the benefit of the doubt, and then…what?"

"Then…I opened the door to the lobby…and a beautiful, angry woman in heels rushed past me."

"I _shoved_ past you," I corrected. "Don't sugar-coat it too much; I do remember some."

"Fine. A beautiful, angry woman in heels shoved past me, and believe it or not," he chuckled humorlessly, "those heels were my first concern. I was worried you'd fall over."

Despite the topic, I found myself chuckling with real mirth. "I probably should've fallen over. It would've saved us all a bunch of trouble."

"No," he disagreed. "you shouldn't have. Just like I shouldn't have left the country without going to see her."

"So, what are you saying, Edward, that we were exactly where we were meant to be? With me on the verge of one of the worst moments of my life, and you on the verge of reliving a scene sickeningly reminiscent to one of your worst moments?" I shook my head. "How could any of that have been meant to be?"

He held my gaze, but when he spoke again, he didn't provide an answer to my question.

"The next thing I knew, my sister was rushing out of the elevator, looking wild and…fucking disheveled and the guy with her looked no better, and I knew, of course, what they'd been up to, and when I saw you approach them, I knew some serious shit was about to go down."

"I started yelling."

He snorted. "You started yelling, and everyone in the lobby stopped to watch. The guy with Alice rushed forward and begged you to calm down."

"My dear husband," I smirked.

"You kept cursing at him and at Alice, and…that was the first time I tried to step in."

"Why? Because I was cursing at Alice?"

"No, Bella," he hissed pushing back against his seat. "Not because you were cursing at Alice. Because I knew my sister."

I waited, and a handful of seconds later, he drew forward again.

"There's a difference between shame and embarrassment. Alice was embarrassed, but she wasn't ashamed. The more you yelled and cursed, the more her self-righteous sense of resentment grew, and I knew that the moment she lashed out, she was going to do so in the most vindictive, the most ruthless manner possible."

"Like by announcing to me and to the entire lobby that while I'd tried for the past two years to get pregnant from my husband, she'd performed the feat in a matter of a few short months."

Edward swallowed thickly, but his gaze no longer wavered.

"Yes. Like that. So, she played her ace card, and-"

"Edward, why didn't you just leave at that point? It had to be so hard for you," I said, "to watch that scene play out. Why did you stay?"

"I couldn't leave," he said quietly. "Yeah, I suppose, at first, it was sympathy; watching the both of them stand together against you, your own damn husband too much of a whipped prick to at the very least protect you from her venomous mouth," he scowled in disgust. "But then," he swallowed, "when I wrapped my arms around you to pull you off him-"

"I don't remember that," I confessed. "I don't remember you holding me. I mean, I have vague recollections in my dreams, but most of them vanish when I wake up. What I experienced in that lobby…they called it an anxiety attack with accompanying memory loss. It was…bad," I choked and quickly turned away, swallowing back the sting in my eyes.

Over the table, Edward's hand enveloped mine. After a few minutes, I met his eyes again.

"What did you say to me, Edward?" I whispered.

"I told you they weren't worth it," he replied in a hushed whisper. "I told you to let go because they weren't worth it, and I told you…"

I shut my eyes.

" _Bella? Bella, come here. They're not worth it. I know you're angry, but they're not worth your getting in trouble. Come here. That's right."_

" _They lied to me!"_

" _I know, but I've got you."_

 _I've got you…_

 _I've got you…_

 _I've got you…_

My eyes opened. "You said, 'I've got you.'"

He nodded.

"You said it over and over, and…and I let go of Jasper, and…"

" _Shh. Come here. They're not worth it, Bella. If they did this to you, they're not worth it."_

" _They're assholes!"_

" _Yes, they are. Come here. That's right. Shh. It'll be okay. I promise you."_

" _I promise you…"_

" _I promise you…"_

"And you comforted me," I breathed while a silent tear skimmed down my cheek. It fell on the table between us, alone at first. Then, another one joined it because…I remembered now.

"You told me it would be okay. You promised me. You pulled me back…and you held me so tightly, you enveloped me so completely in your arms, while she taunted me and taunted me. Why, Edward?"

"She said something about how everything could've been handled in a friendly manner, and-"

"And that was when I fucking lost it, because my mother used those same damn words when she broke my father's heart," I cried quietly, "and I let loose all the pain and frustration which had been building for decades…but why, Edward? _Why_ didn't you let go?"

He didn't answer.

"Edward, why?"

"Why?" he echoed shakily, held my hand in his grip so tightly it would've been painful if it hadn't been my anchor. The rest of his words erupted in a rush. "Do you want the absolute truth, or do you want the answer that's still true, but which will make it easier to send this file back to the goddamn end of the list? Because the absolute truth might not be something you need to hear. It's probably not what you _want_ to hear, not now when…" he swallowed back the rest. "The absolute truth might just be for _me_ to deal with," he added through gritted teeth. "And God help me I'm not trying to be an asshole, Bella. I'm asking you because I honestly don't know here," he said hoarsely, scrubbed a hand down his tired face. "I don't know, but I'll give you whatever you want."

My heart pounded against my rib cage. "I want the absolute truth."

"Yes, those first few moments in that lobby were a reminder of what my father did, but it was an alternate scenario."

"It was your past affecting how you saw that scene."

His nostrils flared. "It was more than that. It was the pent-up emotion that burst from you: your fury and outrage, yes, but it was more than that which made me hold on so tight. It was the courage you showed in calling them out on their bullshit instead of just hushing it up, handling it privately, in a _friendly_ manner," he scoffed, "like she said; in a quiet corner where all's easily forgiven and forgotten. No. No," he scowled. "You stood there and gave them both a piece of what they deserved, a piece of your mind, and along with the little bit I'd learned of you from your articles, I started to piece together the most fascinating of women."

"A fascinating woman," I laughed bitterly, while my pulse raced. "You're going to tell me that's what you saw in me the day I broke?"

"Yes," he retorted heatedly. "That's what _I_ saw. I saw a woman with so many complex sides: an imaginative wordsmith and writer who'd earned her corner office without stabbing someone else in the back for it, a defender of what was hers, a woman with the capability to love so unconditionally – even when she loved the wrong person – so unconditionally, she'd shamelessly show that love to the entire world. Someone who understood fidelity and who expected fidelity in return. Someone capable of offering forgiveness. A woman who'd fight for the family she wanted so badly she'd put herself through hell for it. And no, Bella," he gritted, "in the heat of the moment, I didn't realize I was thinking these things; of course not. It wasn't until days, weeks later when I laid my head down on another continent and wondered why I still couldn't get you out of my head. That was when I stopped to examine these thoughts. That was when I realized that I'd taken what little I knew and extrapolated so much from it…so much…" he gripped both my hands. "Bella…"

"Edward…" I breathed.

And even as I did, even as I slid my fingers through his and knit our hands together as one, even as our foreheads met halfway across the small table and rested heavily against one another, relieved, bewildered, lost and found, I wasn't exactly sure what would come next; what would happen between Edward and me after those words were spoken aloud.

But I knew they'd change everything.

"…so much that I'd fallen in love with you."

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **Facebook: Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

" **See" you tomorrow!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine too.**

* * *

 **Break – Chapter 15**

I'm not sure how long Edward and I sat in that coffee shop, with his forehead resting on mine and with my hands cocooned within his. Moisture tumbled like teardrops from gray skies and pelted the window. I should've sensed the chill from the gusty winds which made the translucent barrier between the world outside and Edward and I in here vibrate. I should've felt the draft forcing its way between unseen cracks and crevices, and nipping at the exposed parts of my skin.

But with Edward's warm breath so close to my nose, to my chin, and to my mouth, with his strong hands gripping mine as if we were at once one another's relief and restraint, there was no cold outside. There was no outside. There was no passage of time. There was no wrong, no right…at least, not until Edward pulled away just enough so that his mouth skimmed my nose as it trailed upward. When his soft lips brushed my brow, I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed.

"Edward…I can't," I breathed. "There's someone…and I can't…"

"I know you can't," he murmured thickly, his lips moving against my brow, "and that right there is one of the reasons why I respect you and love you so much, and it's why I can't either. A secret piece of you would never be enough for me." With a soft kiss to my temple, Edward released my hands and pulled away completely.

The world outside, with its rain and gust and wind, returned.

He drew in a long breath and exhaled. "And there…is my absolute truth, and we can hit the 'X' on that portion of the file, and you can move on."

"Edward…"

For a few moments, my chest constricted too tightly for words. My head was reeling, disconcerted, and in so much turmoil.

"I have vague memories…of the hospital. You were there with me."

Edward nodded.

I glared down at the table, at my empty hands.

"I'm hurting you so much with this," I acknowledged with a strangled whisper.

"Stop," he said.

I looked up at him. "Why? It's the truth. Yet you'll sit here and give me what I want, and I'll take and ask for more. Because I need time to process this before we reach that hospital."

"Bella, now that you know my absolute truth, do you think I'm going to sit here and complain about meeting with you one more time?"

"You have so much going on."

"And so do you," he replied. Then he sighed and leaned into the table, not as close as before, but close enough so I could see how his wistful smile didn't reach his expressive eyes. "So, just tell me where and when, and I'll let you know if I can make it, and we'll go from there."

When I opened my mouth, I wasn't sure what I would say. So many things were on the tip of my tongue, but so much was still mixed up in the corners of my mind.

"Thank you, Edward, for… _so much._ "

My voice broke, and Edward shook his head.

"No, Bella. Don't thank me." He swept his gaze to the windows, and his Adam's Apple bobbed. "Stay safe and dry out there, okay?"

"Okay," I breathed unevenly. "You too."

He was still staring out the window when I stood and left.

OOOOO

The rain kept falling when I arrived at my apartment that evening, but it was no longer as intense. The wind had dwindled as well, and when I shut my umbrella and entered the building vestibule, my breath hitched.

"Sorry," Brady chuckled ruefully. "I didn't mean to startle you."

When he leaned in and kissed my forehead, I flinched. It was the same spot where Edward kissed me earlier, and the ensuing guilt made my stomach churn.

Brady frowned. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I said. "But I'm surprised to see you."

"Surprised?" he smiled. "We have plans tonight. Remember?"

He was dressed in a casual suit, as handsome as ever, and I recalled the Teacher's Association Thanksgiving Dinner we were scheduled to attend.

"Oh, fuck." I squeezed my eyes shut. "I totally forgot the dinner."

"It's all right. We still have time." When he chuckled again, the sound wasn't quite as laid-back as his answer. "Actually, I was going to text you this afternoon to remind you, but I feel as if I've been reminding you of a lot recently."

He paused, waiting while I gazed beyond him to the stairwell. "Where are you lately, Bella?"

My first instinct was to shut my eyes again, to shut out his questioning gaze. Instead, I met his eyes.

"I'm not sure where I am, Brady. But…I know I'm not here."

For one long moment, we held one another's gaze. Finally, Brady sighed.

"Bella, I suppose I may have pressured you with the invitation to the Bahamas with the kids. After all, it was a tall order, with none-too-subtle strings attached. And you know what? We don't have to do that now. We've only been together for a few months."

"Brady…" I shook my head, "Brady, since the day you and I met, you made it perfectly clear that you weren't the type to play games, so I knew very well what I was getting into when we started dating. Whoever shared your life had to be ready to love your kids unconditionally. And even without meeting them, from all you've said of them, from all you've shown me," I smiled shakily, "Brady, I've been halfway to loving your kids for a while."

He smiled softly. "Then, what's the problem, Bella?"

"The problem is, Brady," I choked, "I should be as ready to fall in love with their father as I am to fall in love with them."

Brady's handsome face paled against his dark suit, and his smile withered.

"You have no idea how badly I've wanted to meet Anna and Quil. They'd be an instant family for me," I said, smiling between my tears. "Not one but _two_ wonderful children, because I know they're wonderful, Brady. I know they're good kids because they're yours, and you're such a good man," I cried. "And I knew that the moment I met them, I'd be all in. I'd be ready to be a second mom to them. But it wouldn't be fair to you, Brady, or to Anna and Quil, for me to be with you because of my love for them. People create all sorts of relationships for the sake of their children." I snorted. "But is it always the right choice? I don't know," I shrugged honestly. "I _do_ know you deserve better. _They_ deserve better, and their mom deserves better than another woman in her children's life who'd never be able to look her in the face and say she was doing right by their blended family."

Brady stared at me long and hard. When he dropped his gaze to the floor between us, he dug his hands in his pockets and shook his head back and forth.

"I guess…" he cleared his throat, "I guess I should be grateful for your honesty, though I can't say I'm feeling all that magnanimous at the moment."

"And I wish I could just leave it at that, but you've been so good to me, so honest, and I owe you complete honesty, if nothing else."

He looked up, his eyes suspiciously narrowed now, brows furrowed tightly.

"I'd ask you if there's someone else, Bella, but after what your ex-husband put you through…you and I aren't married, but we were exclusive." He shook his head warily. "I can't see you doing something like that."

I forced myself to speak the harsh truth. "Not in deed, Brady. I haven't cheated in deed. Do you remember…" I swallowed painfully, "when we first met, I told you I'd just started seeing someone?"

"Yes," he said slowly; cautiously, "but you said it went nowhere."

I dropped my head. "I didn't mean to lie to you, but it seems I was lying to myself. And I know that's a shitty excuse, especially since he and I…we've been meeting for lunch."

Except for his pronounced breaths, Brady was silent, and my heart raced as I looked up, shamed by the contempt I was sure I'd find at my confession, by the reflection of my hypocrisy in his blue eyes.

"Consciously, I had no intention of wrongdoing. But I needed his help with my database. It was getting mixed up, and somewhere along the way, I realized his file was never all the way at the bottom. It was just misfiled, perhaps purposely-"

"Bella, I have no idea what you're talking about," Brady interrupted. He sighed impatiently. "What database? What files?"

"Never mind." I waved it away. "Never mind; that part doesn't matter in relation to us. The point is, when you ask if there's someone else, in theory, no, there isn't," I said, shaking my head. "But-"

"Bella, stop." He raked a hand through his hair. "Look, I won't pretend I'm not upset," he said, his tone cold as he threw his frustrated hands in the air. "Of course I am. I had hopes, Bella, and for a while there, I thought you shared my hopes. But it seems you've had doubts all along, and if nothing else, I'm grateful they came to light now rather than after you met the kids."

"Brady, I could've never done that to your kids."

"But you could do it to me," he retorted.

When I grimaced, he sighed again.

"But…as upset at you as I'll admit I am right now, I am grateful for your honesty, so I won't stand here and allow you to vilify yourself more than you should."

"I don't-"

"If nothing physical went on between you and that guy, you didn't cheat."

"Not physically, but…"

He put up a palm. "Bella, I get it."

I tried to explain myself. "Brady, I'm not trying to hurt you any more than I need to. But I see the parallel between what I did and what was done to me."

"You weren't sneaking around, Bella," he said through pursed lips. "You've told me over the past weeks that you've been having lunch with a friend. You didn't owe me explanations beyond that."

"Didn't I? I don't know," I said honestly.

"Look, I understand why, with your past, this is bothering you, and I'll admit that there's a small, bitter part of me," he chuckled mirthlessly, "telling me to leave it alone, to leave you to your remorse. But Bella, intentions _do_ matter."

"What?"

"You began meeting with this…friend with no conscious intention of wrongdoing, correct?"

"Yes."

"And you're here telling me about it before it goes any further, so," he shrugged, "as much as you say I've earned your respect, you've earned mine as well."

"I don't know that he and I _could_ ever take things any further," I admitted.

"Honestly, Bella? That's more than I need or want to know. And it doesn't change my point."

"I'm sorry." I shook my head ruefully. "You're right."

He snorted. "Being right doesn't really do much for me right now, does it? I suppose you can't help who you're attracted…or not attracted to."

"I do _care_ for you, Brady," I stressed.

"But not enough. And I don't want to settle."

"And you shouldn't. You deserve someone who'll love you immeasurably…even before they love your kids."

He offered me an unamused grin. "I'll keep that in mind for the future." And with a deep breath, Brady ended our awkward conversation. "Bella, I wish I was a big enough man to stand here and say I'd like us to remain friends, but right now…I can't say that."

"I understand," I whispered, blinking back the sting in my eyes.

He reached out and gently curved a hand around my shoulder. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"You too, Brady."

OOOOO

The next morning, Makenna knocked on my bedroom door as I was getting ready for the day.

"Bee, can we talk?"

My heart raced, certain I was about to get kicked to the curb. Nevertheless, I nodded and invited her to sit on the bed. "Sure."

We sat side by side, and Mack angled herself toward me.

"Bee, is there something bothering you lately? You've seemed a bit…off." She ran a finger gently under my right eye. And you've got these dark circles." She frowned. "What's going on?"

I told her everything, from my initial hesitation to meeting Brady's kids, to seeing Edward again, and our lunch dates, which began so that he could fill in gaps in my own history. I told her about my realization that Brady deserved better and about our break-up the night before. I even told her about my impending meeting with Jessica Stanley and some unknown publisher later that morning.

Makenna listened quietly, and I drew in a long breath when I finished.

"Mack, I know Brady's your cousin, and I understand if you don't want me to live here any longer." I swallowed. "Just give me a little time to figure-"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she spat.

My mouth fell open.

Mack sucked her teeth and frowned darkly. "Come on, Bella. You're gonna do me that way, babe? Don't offend me. You and I have been tight too long for that. You think I'd kick you out because you broke up with Brady?"

"I just…I wasn't sure-"

"Bella," she sighed, smiling as she reached out and ran her fingers through a bit of my tangled hair. "Look, I know a few weeks ago, I stuck my foot in my mouth when I talked about you and Brady getting married someday as if it was a given."

"Mack…" I smiled, shaking my head.

"You think I didn't see how you almost shit yourself?" She grinned. "I'll admit, I wouldn't have minded at all if things had gone in that direction, but I also saw how hesitant you were to meet Anna and Quil, and I appreciated that hesitation because it meant you were taking that shit seriously."

"I couldn't take it lightly."

"'Course not, and I'm not stupid, and neither is Brady. I'm sure it's been as obvious to him as it's been to me for the past few weeks that your hesitation was a death sentence to that relationship." She offered me a wry grin. "Either way, babe, that dead relationship was between you two, not between we three. Your break up shouldn't affect _our_ friendship," she finished indignantly.

"Mack, I'm so relieved to hear that," I exhaled, "and I'm so sorry I doubted our friendship."

"Dummy," she spat. But then she smiled. "But you've had shitty friends in the past, so I'll forgive you."

"For everything? Even for not telling you I've been meeting Edward for lunch?"

She snorted. "Yes, even for that. I agree with Brady, and I gotta say I'm proud of him for pointing it out to you when he must've been hurting. Intention _does_ matter, Bella."

"Maybe it does," I murmured.

Mack shook her head. "You've been dealing with all this shit without me for what, weeks because you were scared to bring it up?"

I nodded.

"Dummy," she repeated. "Look, I'm proud you've been getting through it without any major setbacks here," she said, tapping my head, "but we're _friends_ , Bella. Your break-up with a guy – even if he's my cousin – won't change that. Now, if you'd gone all cheatin' whore on him, that might've been a different story." She laughed.

"Mack…" I threw my arms around her and kissed her cheek soundly. "Thank you."

She rolled her eyes as she pulled away. "Now, come on, girl! Let me do your makeup and hair today. Cuz that shit looks like a bird's nest, and you've got a publisher to impress!"

"It'll probably come to nothing."

I laughed, feeling lighter now that Mack and I were in a good place again…and now that I'd been honest with Brady. And if I could only figure out the rest…

OOOOO

Later that afternoon, Jessica Stanley and I emerged from a gorgeous skyscraper across the Street from Bryant Park. When I'd first arrived a short while earlier, I'd vaguely noted that the Skating Rink was already being set up at the park, with a pristine, smooth sheet of ice gleaming in the day's cool sun. The minuscule stalls which would soon form the park's yearly Christmas market were also being set up. I felt an almost unfamiliar sense of exhilaration, of expectation which I hadn't felt…in a long time.

But when Jessica and I emerged from the offices of Volterra Publishing after having met with Heidi Noot, an editor in about her mid-forties, and with Marcus Michaels, her young, twenty-something assistant, I was too bewildered to feel that exhilaration or even expectation.

Instead, I paused just outside of the building and rounded on my agent, a woman about my own age. Jess was sweet but kind of ditsy, always with her head in the clouds. When I'd hired her after she'd walked into my workshop one afternoon, she's more or less admitted she only had one client. As the months passed, I began to suspect even that was an exaggeration. Honestly, I'd recently stopped expecting much from her and started thinking it might be time to search for another agent.

"Jessica," I said, digging a fist in my mouth while she gave me a goofy smile, "how could you possibly not tell me we were meeting with Volterra Publishing? And how the hell did you manage to get my manuscript into Heidi Noot's hands?"

My words trembled, as did my whole body. The entire, fifteen-minute or so meeting had felt like an out of body experience. Volterra Publishing was one of the fastest-rising publishers in the business.

Jessica's goofy grin grew wider. "I'm sleeping with Marcus."

"Fuck," I spat. "So is this even ethical?"

"Why not? He's single, I'm single, and all it got you was finally getting your manuscript under the nose of someone who matters. You're not sleeping with anyone to get it read. It's totally on the up and up." She gave me a thumbs up sign and a hearty chuckle.

"Oh my God. Oh my God." I laid a hand over my racing heart. "I can't even believe this just happened. Did this just happen?" I asked again to confirm.

"It did," Jess smirked. "So, okay, just so we're clear," she said, putting a hand up, palm out between us, "they're considering your manuscript for _Gemma_ , but before they make an offer, they want to take a look at your outline for the multi-book World War II series you've been working on. So, you're authorizing me to send them that, correct?"

I stared at her in disbelief.

"Bella, correct?"

"Yes, yes." I waved a hand. "This is Volterra Publishing. Send them whatever the hell they want."

She laughed.

"Jessica, I should fucking strangle you."

"I _told_ you I had a great surprise for you," she shrieked.

I shot her a smirk and walked briskly down the street, my heels click-clacking noisily on the concrete. They were swiftly joined by Jessica's heels at my side.

"Okay. Did they mention something about early Spring? I was in too much of a daze to remember-"

"They want to plan for a book release in early Spring – about late February-ish, which means you need to start clearing your calendar, Bella. They'll probably want you to travel."

I stopped, thought of Edward.

"What?"

I shook my head and resumed my stride. "Nothing. What else?"

"Skeletons in the closet. They'll start looking if they haven't already. Anything besides the nasty divorce, the cheating husband, the arrest record and the court-mandated time with the head shrink I should know about?"

"No," I smirked down at her. "That's about it."

"Good. Also, we should probably coordinate-"

I cried out as my ankle turned and I went down hard over the concrete.

OOOOO

About three hours later, the nurse smiled as she handed me the discharge instructions.

"Now, remember. It's just a sprain, but you have to try to keep as much weight off of that foot as you can, at least for the next week or so, or it'll worsen."

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

"Ice it for twenty minutes at least four times a day. Try to get a couple of pairs of compression socks to keep it in. That'll cut down on the swelling."

"Will do."

"And take ibuprofen if you need it for the pain."

"Got it."

"Other than that, Miss Swan, your foot should be just fine."

"Thanks so much," I said gratefully as I looked over the instructions she'd just gone over with me.

"Now, do you have someone to help you-"

Jess rushed into the triage.

"I'm back!"

"Yes, I have someone," I confirmed.

"Jesus, I had to take the elevator up to Pediatrics before I got a decent signal! But, I sent out your outline, and we're all set, stupid sprained foot and all."

"Thanks, Jess," I smirked.

"Now, stay close to your phone, Bella, and I'll stay close to mine," Jess said as she helped me limp out of triage and through the hospital. I wore a medical boot on one foot and a flip flop on the other. "They promised they'd call within twenty-four hours, but Michael tells me…"

The rest of whatever she said faded into a muted background A female voice paged someone over the hospital's intercom.

"Paging Doctor Cullen. Doctor Cullen, please report to the nurses' station in Cardiology."

I stopped limping and held up my injured foot.

"Paging Doctor Cullen. Please report to the nurses' station in Cardiology, stat."

For a handful of seconds, I thought they were paging Edward. But then I recalled, Edward wasn't a medical doctor. His father was. His father was a Cardiac Surgeon.

Blood pounded in my temples. My hands turned clammy.

"Bella, what is it?"

"Nothing," I said. "Nothing."

We resumed our walk, but the nurse's voice resounded in my head.

' _Paging Doctor Cullen…'_

' _Paging Doctor Cullen…'_

I'd heard that once before, in this same hospital, over two years earlier.

Again, my steps halted.

"Actually, Jess, I have a friend in the hospital, who I'd like to stop by and say hi to."

Jess looked down at her watch. "I actually have an-"

"No, that's fine," I said, waving her off. "You go on."

"But how about your foot?"

"I'll catch an Uber right outside when I'm done, and I'll go straight home."

"Bella, don't fuck up that foot now," she warned, narrowing her eyes. "We need you well and healthy!"

I chuckled nervously. "I'll be fine. I promise."

OOOOO

My foot, my head, and my pulse all throbbed as I reached the Nurses' station up on Cardiology. There was a gathering of nurses, and as soon as one looked up at me and smiled, I forced the words out of my mouth.

"Uhm, hi. I was wondering if you could tell me where I could find Doctor Cullen?"

"Doctor Cullen should be in his office," the nurse replied, still smiling. "Do you have an appointment?

"No," I confessed. "I just wanted a quick moment."

The smile withered from the nurse's face. "Well then, I'm sorry, ma'am. Doctor Cullen's schedule is double-booked. You'll have to make an appointment." She looked back down at the paperwork on her desk.

"I'll be very quick. I promise."

Again, she looked up, but no longer with the friendly smile. "I'm sorry," she repeated, "but as I said, you'll have to make an appointment."

"But-"

"Hi, I'm Dr. Cullen. May I help you?"

My heart stopped, and drawing in a deep breath, I made a slow about-face.

He was…an older version of Edward, with a sprinkling of gray in his dark copper hair and in his dark facial hair. He was perhaps a couple of inches shorter, somewhat more filled out than Edward, due to age. He offered me a friendly smile, so heartbreakingly reminiscent to that of his son's. When I didn't return the smile, I saw the momentary furrowing of his thick brows, much like his son's thick brows. When the smile faded, and the blood drained from his face, he no longer looked so much like Edward. He simply looked like an old doctor.

Doctor Cullen…Carlisle Cullen swallowed.

"Mrs. Hale?"

"No," I bit out. My jaw instinctively tightened and my nostrils flared. "No. I'm Isabella _Swan_."

"That's right, that's right," he said in a rush, a mortified shade of scarlet now infusing his cheeks. "Yes, of course. I-" he shook his head vehemently. "It's just last time…" He drew in a deep breath, and in the next moment, all embarrassment, confusion, and any other sort of emotion were wiped clean from his features. He dug his hands in his lab-coat pockets. "How can I help you, Miss Swan?"

"Do you have a moment?"

"I'm sorry, Doctor." The nurse behind me interrupted. "I've tried more than once to explain to the young lady that she needs to make an-"

"It's okay, Maria." Doctor Cullen spoke without removing his green eyes from me. "Yes, Miss Swan. I have a few moments."

Gesturing with his hand, he led the way, and I followed down the narrow hospital corridor until we arrived at the very end. Edward's father opened the door and held it as I walked in.

It was a large, well-appointed office with a huge window overlooking the Empire State building and midtown Manhattan beyond. Tasteful but sparse furnishings filled the room – a mahogany desk and matching chair, two upholstered chairs surrounding the desk, an antique bookshelf with rows and rows of medical books, and a long, narrow side-table scattered with family pictures I instinctively avoided. His medical degrees hung on the soft gray walls – Princeton, Cornell.

When I looked over my shoulder, Doctor Cullen shut the door, leaving it open just a crack. Without looking at me, he walked in and gestured toward one of the two chairs before his desk.

"Please, take a seat."

I sat as he strode behind his desk. Yet, instead of taking his own seat, he stood in front of the massive window, gazing out at the Manhattan skyline, hands again dug deep in his pockets.

And that's how we remained for an immeasurable moment until I broke the oppressive silence.

"I apologize. I know I requested your time, and now I'm not even sure what I wanted from it."

Carlisle sighed. "There are a few different scenarios I can imagine here. So, perhaps, if we go through them, we can figure out together why we're here, and we can see if there's any point to it, on either side."

"All right."

"So, the first thing that comes to mind is that you're here to give me a piece of your mind regarding what my daughter did to your marriage."

I shot that one down fast. "No. No, I'm not here for that."

"Okay," he said carefully. "For your ex-husband? To find out-"

"Doctor Cullen, if we were playing games, you'd be even colder now."

He snorted.

"I'm not here regarding your grandson either."

For a few moments, we were both quiet.

"Then...that leaves Edward," he stated plainly.

My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it from across the room.

"Have you spoken with him lately?" he asked.

"Yes."

Carlisle nodded. "I wasn't aware of that. Then again," he exhaled, "the only reason Edward bothered to inform me last year of his involvement with you was because he was getting ready to beat the shit out of your ex-husband. The only way I was able to stop him was by convincing him to allow me to try to handle it first, because any other way would've just created more problems for you."

It took a couple of attempts, a couple of instances of opening and shutting my mouth before I actually formed words.

"What? Why? Why would Edward have wanted to beat the shit out of Jasper?"

Here, Carlisle sighed and finally turned around. In a slow and composed manner, like the well-respected, well-groomed, and highly intelligent doctor he was reputed to be, he took his seat behind his grand desk and folded his hands on top of it. Had anyone walked in, they would've witnessed a scene not unlike what I was sure was the norm: the great Doctor Carlisle Cullen bestowing his overflowing fountain of knowledge, offering his grand medical advice, his professional diagnosis.

"Because, Miss Swan…Bella. May I call you Bella?"

I nodded.

"Because you'd told him that Jasper was coming around your apartment, harassing you, and Edward didn't want Jasper – or Alice for that matter – anywhere near you. I suppose the way I handled it only served to exacerbate the situation, and I do apologize because that was never my intention." He sounded…bewilderingly sincere. "But, if you were a parent, you'd understand why I was trying to spare my daughter's feelings from the knowledge that her son's father was apparently missing his wife."

"What your daughter did excluded her from my ever feeling any sympathy for her, so let's not even go there. Nonetheless, I still don't know what you're talking about, Doctor. Jasper and I never discussed a reconciliation."

Carlisle shook his head. "Bella, unfortunately, I've been around such situations…" He exhaled and raked a hand through his hair. For a moment, he left it resting there, running his fingers through his scalp.

"I've been around such situations before, and I know when a man regrets his actions. He regretted. So," he sighed, "I told Alice to keep an eye on him, but at the same time, I didn't want to betray Edward. He and I…our relationship has always been tenuous at best. I told Alice I'd heard rumors that Jasper wasn't being completely honest with her. But I suppose it was enough to get her thinking…and that thinking led her to your door. I truly apologize for that."

I ignored his apology, too disoriented, too disconcerted by my own turmoil…and by _so_ many realizations…

"Jesus, is that what happened?"

"I don't know what exactly happened between you and Edward afterward," Carlisle added after a few moments. "I know he was in a fury last year when he returned from Atlanta; fought with Alice – again – told her to stay away from you or there would be consequences. He threatened Jasper within an inch of his life."

I dropped my head and shut my eyes as a silent tear rolled down my cheek.

"And then…he left," Carlisle said emptily. "Once again. To Asia. To Latin America. To Atlanta. To wherever wasn't here. He and I have never been close since…well, I don't know how much he's told you about our relationship. But I'll take full blame for that as well. I did something once, which cost me my only son's respect, and I've never quite managed to earn it back."

Another long moment of silence transpired. Carlisle's office phone rang. He ignored it. I heard the vibration of his cell phone. He ignored that too.

"Bella, may I ask you something, since you arrived here looking for me, and I may never get the opportunity to ask again."

My head shot up, and I hastily wiped the tears from my face.

"Please don't take this the wrong way, but…I do love my son, and I have to know."

"What is it?" I asked impatiently.

"Did you know all along who he was?"

" _What?"_

"Was breaking his heart your way to even the score with all of us? With me for allowing Alice to grow up so wild, with Alice for what she did, and with your husband for-"

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I don't mean to offend you."

"Don't you?" I snorted bitterly.

"He was in the lobby with you," Carlisle persisted. "He pulled you off your husband and defended you against Jasper. He ended up hurt, both physically and emotionally-"

I stood up.

"Thanks for your time, Doctor Cullen, but I shouldn't have come. Whatever else I need to hear, I need to hear from Edward."

And as I limped toward the door, blindly reaching for the door handle, I looked over my shoulder one last time.

"There is…one thing I need from you, Doctor Cullen."

OOOOO

Night had fallen by the time I stepped out of the Uber. The city's skyscrapers were lit up for the evening, twinkling lights playing the part of nature in a town with too much light pollution for real stars. As the car raced away and left me on the curb, I threw my head up to the blackened sky and shut my eyes, drawing in a deep breath.

' _So, what are you saying, Edward, that we were exactly where we were meant to be? With me on the verge of one of the worst moments of my life, and you on the verge of reliving a scene sickeningly reminiscent to one of your worst moments? How could any of that have been meant to be?'_

" _How_ could it have been meant to be?" I beseeched the silent sky.

As luck would finally have it, someone was walking out of the building as I walked in. Perhaps a new person to New York, because he held the vestibule door open for me instead of making me ring up for access.

Once I reached the correct door, it took him a half-minute or so to open, half a minute in which a series of uneven breaths escaped me and made my entire body tremble.

"Coming," he finally called out.

When he opened, we gazed at one another, he in an obvious stupor, and me in wonder at how beautiful he was inside and out, and at how long it had taken me to see. He was in dark sweats and a ratty tee shirt; comfortable, settled in for the evening. The city's version of stars twinkled through the large window behind him and framed Edward in their dark glow.

"Bella?"

When I stood on my tiptoes and wrapped my arms around his neck, Edward's arms slid around my hips with no hesitation; but with wariness. I could feel the confusion, guess the questions, and imagine his bewilderment. But he held me. He held me and picked me up and against his warm, sheltering frame.

And knowing he'd never let me go, knowing that he _had me_ as he'd once promised, knowing it would somehow be all right as he'd once vowed, I released all my own pent-up confusion and fear against his warm neck, and I allowed him to keep me safe.

His hold tightened. "Bella…what are you doing here? And what happened to your foot?"

Despite everything, I chuckled. I chuckled through my tears, and I pulled away so that I could meet his translucently green eyes as I cradled his face between my hands.

"I'm fine. It's okay. It's nothing," I assured him through erratic nods and shakes. "I'm fine, and…"

He held my gaze, and I traced the line of wonder between his thick brows, skimmed a finger down his nose and traced the small bump – the imperfection – between his nostrils. I sighed through my smile, and leaned in and brushed my lips against the sweet bump.

"And I'm sorry I broke your nose."

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **Facebook (for teasers, pics, and discussions): Stories by PattyRose**

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" **See" you soon. :)**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine as well.**

 **Nearing the end…**

* * *

 **Break Ch 16**

As we stood in his hallway, Edward held me against his warm, strong frame; hands gripping me securely, strokes of his thumbs so subtle, I wasn't sure he was even aware of their ebb and flow against my hips. I, however, was acutely aware; finely attuned to the current between us, whose heat stoked every nerve ending in my skin. For an endless moment, while I cradled his stubbled cheeks between my hands and held our gazes locked, Edward's expressive eyes ran a gamut of emotions. They shifted from shock to wariness to apprehension…to uninhibited, palpable longing. When his gaze fell to my mouth, and he leaned in, his lips parted so infinitesimally had I not been attuned to his every movement, I may not have noticed.

Which was why I caught when that longing morphed into contrition a split second before Edward squeezed his eyes shut. His thumbs ceased their ghost-like strokes, and his grip loosened. When he reopened his eyes, anything akin to longing had evaporated, and he shook his head, blinking a handful of times as if pulling out of a daze. Then, he cautiously set me back on my feet.

"I…" he swallowed, "I apologize."

"No, Edward-"

"Shit, and I forgot about your foot." He added the angry words more to himself than to me.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I can walk."

A stiff hand raked his hair as he sighed. " _And_ I've got you standing out here. I'm sorry, do you want to come in?"

"If it's okay."

"Of course it is."

When he stepped aside so that I could move past him, his tension was almost a physical barrier. I drew in a breath of fortitude as I took in my surroundings.

Edward mentioned a couple of weeks earlier, as his sister mentioned once or twice when she and I were _friends_ , that the siblings were well off. I remembered her apartment, which was admittedly gorgeous. It was set in a chic, midtown high-rise complete with concierge, gym, swimming pool, underground garage, and the infamous floor-to-ceiling windowed lobby which bore the brunt of my fury on That Day.

Or…more accurately, the window which until recently, I thought bore the brunt. In reality, a truly beautiful person endured the worst of my blind rage on That Day.

Anyhow, tastefully expensive furnishings punctuated her various rooms; replicas of famous paintings in hallways, a crystal chandelier in the living room, a porcelain vase in the bedroom, and a spotless, white marble kitchen island large enough for her to comfortably set her bare ass on while my then-husband fucked her hardcore.

In contrast, Edward's apartment was in a brick-faced converted warehouse on a stone-cobbled street in downtown Tribeca, a few blocks from the waterfront. The apartment itself was simply one, big open space - a loft, with only rectangular, wooden pillars to mark the delineation of living-room/office/dining room/kitchen.

The walls were exposed brick. The wood-beamed ceilings held exposed piping. Floor-to-ceiling shelves displayed hundreds of obviously well-read books against one of these walls, while another wall overlooked the bright lights of downtown through pristine, industrial windows.

The furnishings were sparse. A ceiling lamp was augmented by a couple of floor lamps. The lone artwork, a sepia-toned wall hanging of a pair of rams facing one another, hung over a plush, beige sectional with a collection of unmatched yet eclectically similar pillows strewn over it. A bare, wooden table for six was off to one side, the table and chairs constructed of the same wood as the loft's pillars. A comfortably-worn, brown leather chair appeared recently vacated, haphazardly pulled back from what I could only guess was a desk, considering the open laptop and the stacks upon stacks of papers and notebooks camouflaging it. The stainless-steel kitchen had recessed lights, a white tile backsplash, and more wood fixtures – no marble kitchen island. At the very end of the loft, a narrow, steel staircase wound its way upward and disappeared.

Behind me, Edward cleared his throat. "Bella…"

"Sorry," I said, turning toward him. "I got distracted. It's really a great place."

"It's pretty basic, but thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I didn't mean to barge in on you like this." I gestured toward the pushed back desk chair and the open laptop. "It looks like you were in the middle of-"

"No, no." He cut me off and waved away the rest of my concerns. "I mean, I was working, but-" He huffed and strode toward me. "Come on, Bella. You have to get off that foot."

With the barest pressure to the small of my back, Edward led me toward the sectional. When I took a seat and almost melted into the plush cushions, my ensuing thought was of the couch and how my initial impression on its likely comfort hadn't been mistaken. But when instead of sitting next to me as I expected, Edward dropped to his knees and rested his hands on the seat cushions to either side of me, thoughts on the sectional's comfort, as well as a host of other thoughts, evaporated.

"Edward, what are you doing?"

He gazed up at me through concerned eyes as he gingerly moved his hands around the boot on my foot. But for the first time since I arrived at his doorstep – uninvited, unannounced, and with no warning – Edward offered me a soft yet albeit shaky grin.

"An examination. I'm a doctor, remember?"

"You're not a medical doctor, and my ankle doesn't have the flu."

He shot me a dark scowl before losing the battle with a chuckle.

"Smart ass. I'm _better_ than a medical doctor." He sobered once again. "So, what happened Bella?"

"A lot. It's a long story."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Is it now?"

"Mhm. Do you…I know you're busy, but do you have a few moments so I can share it with you?"

He snorted; shook his head in what I hastily deemed rejection. But then he sighed, and a wistful smile lifted the edges of his mouth. When he spoke, I realized that in my heart, I'd already known his reply.

"Isabella Swan, you know damn well I'll always have time for you – and your long stories. But may I examine your foot first?"

"It's already been examined, Edward."

"Humor me. Please." The last word was a mere breath. I swallowed hard…and nodded.

Without another word, Edward went to work. He pulled back the rows of Velcro fasteners holding the boot together, it's familiar tearing sound conspicuous and blaring in the relative silence of the loft. When the Velcro fasteners were all undone, Edward eased off the boot with extreme care.

"It's a sprained ankle, not a bomb," I teased.

"Such a smart-ass," he repeated without looking up or cracking a smile.

Setting the boot aside, he peeled off my sock. A pale yet simultaneously red and swollen, unremarkable, commonplace size seven foot appeared. For a few moments, Edward cradled it, not a muscle twitching.

"I've meant to go for a pedicure."

He looked up at me, and this time, he chuckled under his breath.

"Never what I expect," he murmured. Then he dropped his head and peered closer. Cautiously manipulating my foot from side to side, Edward went into full examination mode.

"Painted toes or not, the ankle doesn't look too bad, thank goodness."

"Thank you, Doctor Cullen, but I did tell you that."

He shook his head and placed two fingers just below my ankle, feeling his way around the bruised skin.

"Does that hurt?"

I only managed an erratic shake of the head. The foot throbbed, but not due to his touch. His touch _burned_.

"I went to the hospital, Edward. It's fine; just sprained. And no…it doesn't hurt when you touch me like that."

Edward nodded slowly. Our eyes met and held, and gently, he set my foot down. Then, he stood so abruptly my breath hitched.

"Hold on; I'll be right back."

Admittedly a bit thrown, I watched him head toward the winding staircase and take the steps two at a time. He disappeared, and my confused gaze pinned itself to the top of the landing, hearing his movements – feet shuffling, drawers pulled open and shut.

He hurried down the steps with a package in hand and strode by me offering a few words and a quick wink.

"Just one more thing."

In the kitchen, he pulled open the refrigerator and retrieved something there.

"Do you want a drink, Bella?" he called out.

"No, thanks. I'm good. _I think_ ," I added under my breath.

He strode back, sat beside me while leaving a few inches of space between us, and set down the items at his other side. Retrieving a pillow, he set it in the area between us before gently tapping my knee.

"Come on; lift that foot."

"Edward, that's not-"

His eyes met mine. "I'm sure they told you to keep the foot elevated, compressed, and iced, correct?"

"Yes," I admitted, "but-"

"Then turn around, and lift your foot," he repeated. When I failed to move, he sighed and picked up the items at his side, holding them up for my inspection. "It's a compression bandage and an ice pack. You said you wanted to talk, and you said it was a long story, so I figured the bandage might be more comfortable rather than the heavy boot for now, and you can elevate that foot and get your twenty minutes of ice in as well. That's it. That's all the doctor in me, whether medical or not, is trying to do here. I promise."

"Edward, I'm not trying to imply…" I began, but then I simply nodded. "Okay. Thank you. I appreciate it."

"No problem," he said. His expression was no longer as open or relaxed as it had started getting a moment earlier. He offered me a stoic nod in return, yet when I lifted my bruised foot on top of the pillow he'd set between us, his touch was as gentle as ever. He slid his hand under the arch of my foot and, lifting it at a ninety-degree angle, began wrapping the bandage tautly at the base of my toes. Once again, silence permeated the air around us.

"So…we can begin whenever you want, Bella." His eyes remained downcast as he wound the bandage around the ball of my foot and then the arch. "It's getting late, and-"

"I'm sorry; I know you have work to do."

He stopped wrapping my foot and looked up at me. "That's not at all what I was going to say." He exhaled, his breath of exasperation bathing my bare foot. "I was going to say, it's getting late, and I'm sure you have…people waiting for you. If it were me waiting for you, I wouldn't want you wandering around with an injured ankle." He reverted his attention back to bandaging my foot in a figure eight pattern – once, twice, three times. Over and over.

"I know I said I had a long story to tell," I whispered, my gaze focused on the way the room's lighting played with the copper in his hair, "but…can we please finish your part first?"

The bandage made its way back down to my toes and across my foot, climbing up my ankle.

"The hospital," he murmured.

"I mean before that. Edward, why didn't you tell me I broke your nose?"

He sighed, eyes still on my damn foot. "What would've been the point, Bella?"

"The point would've been that you promised me the whole story, yet you still kept that to yourself."

"Again, for what, Bella?" he spat. "What would've been the point of mentioning that part?"

I watched the flare of his nostrils, the tightening of his jaw. Yet his hands moved around my ankle with the utmost care. Wrapping completed, he secured the ends with clip fasteners, turned to his other side and picked up the ice pack, banging it harder than necessary against his kneecap to activate it. He pressed it cautiously to my injury, sandwiching it between my ankle and the back of the couch. Only when all that was complete did he look up at me through fiery, green eyes.

"So that you could show up at my doorstep and apologize for breaking my nose? Do you think I ever wanted that, Bella – an _apology_ from you?"

"I didn't only-"

"You want to hear something nuts, something I actually did tell you once, but I did it in the most fucked up, clandestine way; made my confessions while taking full advantage of the fact that you didn't remember; that you had _no idea_ what I was confessing." He grinned bitterly. "What an asshole, and again, I'm so sorry. But here it is now that you do remember: I would've been _honored_ to receive that fracture at your hands that day had I been of any use to you, had I been able to keep you from-"

"But you _were_ , Edward."

He shook his head vehemently.

"It was when Alice spewed that bullshit about keeping things friendly. I almost had you, almost calmed you enough to pull you out of there, away from that scene. But then she…and you went for her again, and Jasper grabbed you, and I let go of you to grab him, and…" he sighed.

"And I hit you with my elbow." I smiled sadly.

Again, he dropped his gaze to my foot, unnecessarily adjusted the ice pack, and nodded.

"When the cops came, you were in the worst of it."

"Jesus, Edward, don't tell me you blame yourself for that? It was an anxiety attack. There was nothing-"

"Had I held on to you-"

"I _broke_ your nose," I snorted mirthlessly. "You were probably bleeding all over the place. And God, _how_ did you even keep that out of the police report?"

He adjusted the ice pack again, made sure it was secured between my ankle and the back of the couch.

"You got it?" he asked.

When I nodded, Edward stood and walked toward the large windows overlooking the Manhattan evening. He stopped directly before them, and the lights from the world outside – streetlamps, headlights, office building lights – all illuminated his tall, sturdy frame, his broad shoulders rising and falling with his deep breaths. His hands dug into the pockets of his sweatpants.

"When the cops came and took you, I heard them say they were taking you to the hospital because…and when another cop came and tried to take my statement, I told him to fuck off and grabbed a cab to the hospital."

"You didn't even get that fracture examined right away, did you?" When he didn't reply, when he only pulled a hand out of his pocket and rested it against the window frame, I continued. "I remember you with me; only vague snippets, but…I remember feeling you there with me."

His shoulders rose and fell, rose and fell.

"I found you in triage. They'd sedated you, but you were in and out of it, and you were…frightened. So, I stayed with you for a bit, until you went under completely, and then I left. It was just so…" He dropped his head and shook it from side to side.

"I was a mess."

In three angry strides, he was back at my side. He dropped to his knees and glared up at me through flaming eyes, his hands fisted around the seat cushions.

"Jesus, don't you see yet? Not _you_ , Bella. The fucking situation was a mess. My father works at that hospital, so it also happened to be where they took Alice to make sure she and…the baby were okay even though you didn't even touch her," he hissed. "I mean, the fucking unfairness. You didn't even touch her," he repeated.

' _So, what are you saying, Edward, that we were exactly where we were meant to be? With me on the verge of one of the worst moments of my life, and you on the verge of reliving a scene sickeningly reminiscent to one of your worst moments? How could any of that have been meant to be?'_

"Life's not fair, Edward, but neither is it unfair. I'm only now really…really beginning to see that. Edward, I damaged an underage child's property, I defaced public property, I threatened a pregnant woman, I physically assaulted my husband, and…."

I swallowed, and with a shaky hand, reached out and cupped Edward's cheek. His eyes fell shut at my touch. Slowly, he lifted his hand and cocooned mine under his.

"And I fractured the nose of the only person there who tried to help me. I had a breakdown, and because of that breakdown, I learned to cope, and I reclaimed my life, and I met a host of amazing people."

A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and for a few moments, with his eyes shut, I studied his handsome face and the imperfection which would always be a reminder of That Day.

" _You_ are amazing." He reopened his eyes. "You broke my nose, but I will never, ever regret being there for you if my presence offered you the least bit comfort. So, if that's the case, then the broken nose was more than worth it."

A silent tear skimmed my cheek. "And there…is the biggest metaphor of all," I breathed, "because we're not talking about your nose at all, are we?"

He snorted…and shook his head. For a while, we simply held one another's gaze. When I dropped my head and leaned in, brushing my lips to his soft ones, Edward didn't respond.

"Because you broke my nose?"

"No," I breathed against his mouth. "No."

He pulled back, green eyes again meeting mine. "What about your boyfriend?"

I sighed and offered him a faint smile. "Do you want to know what my book is about?"

For a moment, Edward appeared startled, but then he smiled in return and nodded.

"It's a complicated plotline, but basically, it revolves around star-crossed lovers. However, by the end of the story, she saves the world, and they're no longer star-crossed. Edward, I wasn't ready for you two years ago, and I wasn't ready for you a year ago either."

"I know," he whispered. "And I'm sorry about how I-"

I turned over the hand I had on his cheek and weaved my fingers through his, squeezing them.

"You've apologized already, and while I maintain you should've told me, it was a fucked-up situation all around. But I wasn't ready, and it wouldn't have worked out whether you'd told me or not."

He nodded. "And now?"

"Now…now, I trust myself in a way I didn't then. And because I trust myself, I can trust you, and I can see…I can see…"

As I searched for the right words, my gaze panned away to the windows; those windows of my life which always reflected so much more than the world outside.

"I see that just as you extrapolated and fell in love with me that day, on the day a year ago when I met you – or rather, re-met you," I smiled, "some part of me remembered that you were the one there for me in that lobby, and in the hospital. It's why I opened up to you in a way I hadn't opened up to anyone." I met his eyes. "It was because I was half in love with you as well."

He exhaled heavily. "Bella..."

"I was half in love with you, but I wasn't ready for you," I choked. "We were star-crossed, and subconsciously, I knew it, so it poured out in the words I wrote. And afterward, I buried your file, but I couldn't erase it, so I tried replacing it with another file…" I shook my head. "Edward, Brady and I broke up yesterday."

Edward's brow furrowed. "Brady?"

"My boyfriend," I clarified. "My ex-boyfriend."

" _Brady_ ," he repeated, nodding almost to himself. "You broke up."

I nodded.

"And…you love me."

I nodded. "Yes, Edward. Yes." I sighed in relief, in contentment. "I love you."

"Then, that's all I need to hear."

He pushed himself off his knees and hovered above me for a handful of seconds. And when I nodded, though he was mindful of my injury as he did so – just as he'd _always_ been careful with my injuries – Edward nudged me against his plush cushions and soundly crushed his mouth to mine.

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **Facebook (for teasers, pics, and story discussions): Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: (for update notifications and other stuff): PattyRosa817**

 **"See" you soon. :)**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.**

 **Here's a quick update to (hopefully) brighten an otherwise rainy Thursday afternoon here on the east coast.**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine as well.**

* * *

 **Break – Chapter 17**

In a loft in downtown Tribeca, for an indeterminable moment of time, there was none of the reflection, evaluation, deliberation – or even the caution which had marked every facet of Edward's and my complicated relationship. By then, Edward and I had brooded, mused, and contemplated so much that we both mutually and wordlessly agreed to a reprieve.

Warm lips infused with pure relief brushed together, breaths mingled and became one. When I had to breathe, I pulled away and kissed his nose – his sweet, beautiful, imperfect nose. Edward smiled and kissed my forehead, my eyes, my nose, and with the desperation of a man who'd been kept away for too long, he returned to my mouth. For this endless moment, nothing else existed. There were no issues still be to resolved, no impending separations forced by the dangers of a flu epidemic or by the excitement of a possible book deal. There was no waiting laptop or waiting friends. There were no fucked up families or sprained ankles.

Warm hands cradled my face, and nothing else existed. My hands got lost in his hair, and nothing else existed. His heart beat against mine, and nothing else existed. I pulled his bottom lip between mine. He pulled my top lip between his. We sucked gently, alternated, and returned. And through it all, we reaffirmed one salient fact over and over.

"I love you. I love you, Bella."

"I love you too, Edward."

His tongue slipped inside my mouth, and I sighed as the world both exploded and disappeared behind closed eyelids. I pulled him, dropped my hands to his strong shoulders, guiding him.

"I don't want to hurt you," he breathed. "Your foot…"

"My foot's all the way down there, and you won't hurt me."

I'd confessed the one salient fact to him as much as to myself, and now I craved the warmth radiating off his body, the warmth I now knew…now accepted only he could ever provide.

When I pulled again, he nudged me away from the backrest and pushed me into the seat cushions, draping his long body over mine. Items fell to the floor, pillows were displaced, but the warmth radiating intensified into heat which permeated my every pore. Through his clothing and mine, I felt every taught line and every firm plane, the flexible and the unyielding, and I molded myself around as much of him as I could.

"I always knew you'd fit like this," he murmured. "I knew…"

"I know now. We're a puzzle."

"We are," he smiled against my mouth.

"In every way."

"We are," he breathed against my neck, lips skimming my collarbone from end to end and leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses. My body moved against his, seeking that age-old, instinctive friction. When I found it, I melted deeper into the plush cushions then arched higher into his strong frame.

"Edward…"

Murmured requests for permission were granted with sighs and erratic nods. My blouse fell open, and I gasped as his mouth molded around thin cloth, then whimpered when the clasp behind me gave, and his mouth met no barrier.

"So soft. I knew…"

"Edward…" I played with hair, threw back my head. All the while, we moved against one another.

"I love you…"

"I love you too…"

Mouth on my heart, voice shaky, "Are you sure? I've waited for you for so long; I can wait longer."

My hands on his shoulders, voice firm and sure, "I don't want to wait."

"Okay," he breathed, then released a series of consecutive sighs. "Okay."

His uneven sighs continued, warm breaths on my chest, on my face, on my neck as I pulled the drawstring on his sweatpants, as he fumbled with the buttons on my dress pants, as I pushed up his shirt.

Edward pulled away long enough to reach behind his neck and pull the shirt off, flinging it aside.

Laying open and exposed to him, I gazed in wonder at both his external and internal beauty, no longer hiding my admiration for one nor doubting the other. When I reached up a finger and traced the black ink on his chest – two intertwined eagles facing one another, their powerful wingspans forming an arch – Edward's abs contracted. It was a symbol of which I'd always wondered when we ran the city streets together, yet I'd never dared ask.

"What is it?"

He grinned softly. "The Celtic symbol for strength and health."

I snorted. "I should've known."

"I was always waiting for you to ask."

We chuckled quietly together. But soon, the humor dissipated, replaced by something much more potent in that moment. Edward's Adam's apple bobbed, and he made to climb off the couch, climb off me.

"I've got condoms up-"

With the barest touch to his thigh, I stopped him.

" _I_ don't need you to wear one."

He swallowed thickly. "Are you sure?"

I offered him a wistful smile. "It's not like I'm going to get pregnant."

Edward's frame swiftly yet carefully covered mine once more, and he cradled me within his broad shoulders. "I wouldn't even…" he smiled and swallowed, "I wouldn't mind."

I cradled his cheek, and when his smile faded, there were no more questions or delays. Peripherally, I noted when his sweatpants disappeared, when my pants followed suit with slightly more care due to my foot. Then, one long, lean leg nudged itself between mine, and he pushed himself inside, and…he was home.

My back arched as he filled me, kisses interspersed with mutual cries because we were both past subduing our sounds and our love. Mouths fell open in bewildered pleasure, then closed around lips, shoulders, chests and anywhere they found purchase. My legs wrapped around his hips; his hips thrust hard then gently then hard. He held my hands above my head, then released them and gripped my hips before fisting my hair. I anchored myself around his shoulders, scratched my nails on his back, and when it all became too much, lost them in his hair.

And when it did become too much, words and colors and grunts and groans all mixed and blended as we soared together to the highest peak and fell back to Earth…as one.

Afterward, arms and limbs tangled, our hard breaths and soft kisses continued until the hard breaths became sated sighs, and the kisses became lips that simply brushed one another's damp skin.

I dozed. When I woke, I was spooned between the couch's backrest and Edward's warm, hard chest.

He kissed the nape of my neck, folded our entwined hands against my stomach, gently stroking.

"Stay with me tonight. I'll carry you upstairs to bed."

"I can walk." I smiled softly, dreamily. "But I'll have to text Mack."

Cocooned by a haze of languid contentment in which I'd never found myself, it was a few moments before I realized Edward spoke.

"Who's Mack again?"

"My roommate," I replied groggily, nestling closer into his warmth. "Otherwise, she'll worry."

His low chuckles reverberated against my skin. "All right, Bella." His arms tightened around me, and he kissed my temple and sighed. "All right."

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **Facebook: (for pics, teasers, discussions…speculations…): Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: (for update alerts and other random stuff): PattyRosa817**

 **I've got another competition weekend coming up with my daughter so…probably no update until next week. But, we'll see what happens. :)**

" **See" you soon!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.**

 **We're getting there…**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine as well.**

* * *

 **Break Chapter 18**

The next time I awoke was in a dark room, with a silver waterfall of moonlight and city lights spilling through large, industrial windows. A plush comforter lay over me, but my main source of warmth emanated from the body lying next to me. Edward held me cocooned against him. When I nestled in closer, the intensity of his heat magnified. He was already awake when I turned in his arms, gazing at me quietly and steadily. As I straddled him, he guided me wordlessly to where that heat radiated.

This time, only our breaths and the rivulets of glowing light invaded our surroundings. I rocked over him languidly, arching my back and silently reveling in his upward thrusts, in the slow rhythm we mutually set; no less potent for its unhurried pace. The stream of moonlight highlighted his emerald eyes and spun the fine wisps on his chest into gold. I anchored myself on his shoulders, and he cradled my hips, pulling when I pushed, and we rocked together…and rocked…

And though I fell over him with muted whimpers, Edward's heat shot through me like wildfire, took away my breath as it seared and branded every extremity from my scalp to my toes. It was a heady sensation; bewildering and so reverent in its purity that I knew even if Edward and I performed this same act every night for the rest of our lives, _this_ would be that one time which would always stand out as the first time Edward and I made _love_.

Afterward, he held me prone over him, legs tangled and fingers languidly skimming my spine.

The next time I awoke, it was still dark. Edward was sitting up in bed now, back in boxer briefs and his comfortable, ratty tee shirt. Since he had no bed frame, his pillow was propped against the wall, supporting his back, his laptop propped on his legs. When I looked up at him, he offered me an apologetic smile.

"Sorry if I woke you," he whispered. "I just had to send something out to Emmett before he came knocking on my door at sun-up."

My ensuing chuckle sounded hoarse and husky. "The booster vaccine?"

"Mhm," he said. "It's ready and FDA-sanctioned. Just needed to sign off on some stuff."

"My nerdy scientist."

For a long while, we quietly held one another's gaze. Eventually, a long, breathy sigh infused with contentment washed over me.

"What are you thinking?" I asked.

He ran his long fingers down the length of my tangled hair, taking a few moments to reply, averting his gaze as he watched his hands get lost in my strands.

"I'm thinking about how massively fucked up it would be if I woke up in the morning…" he inhaled, exhaled, and met my eyes again, "and this was all just another dream."

"Edward…"

My heart clenched not only at the confession of his fear but at the further disclosure that he'd dreamed of me, for…only God knew how long; apparently long enough to fear that our night together wasn't real.

Humbled by his raw honesty and overpowered by my own wildly fluctuating emotions, I drew in a series of shaky breaths and brushed my lips back and forth against his thigh, the closest part of him I could reach. It was organic, this need to comfort and reassure him. He hissed and shivered, his skin prickling against my mouth. When I looked up at him, it was with a determination to be as open with him as he was allowing himself to be with me.

"I dreamed of you too, Edward, even if my conscious mind wasn't always ready to remember the dreams. But my subconscious never forgot it was you. And if you're dreaming now," I added, "so am I."

He grinned down at me softly. "Then, neither of us better wake up."

"Good idea. And by the way, you didn't wake me - or rather, you did but not with your laptop. Since my divorce, I've grown used to having the bed all to myself."

Setting aside the laptop on a crate next to the bed, which I hastily noted doubled as a nightstand, Edward sank back down and slid under the covers. His arm enfolded me, hand resting on my hip as his long fingers gauzily stroked the swell of my backside.

"How much of an immature, thirty-five-year-old jerk would I be if I admitted that I kind of love knowing that?"

"A bit of one," I said with a smirk.

He chuckled lowly. "How about if I admitted that I'm used to sleeping alone too?"

I cupped his stubbly cheek. "That might absolve you a tiny bit."

Edward brushed his lips to mine. "Maybe…" he murmured in between soft kisses, "maybe we should work on getting used to feeling one another's bodies in the middle of the night, then neither of us will be shocked when the other turns out to be a cover hogger and a sleep kicker."

"Mmm," I hummed dreamily against his mouth. "Sounds like a good- wait a minute."

I propped myself on an elbow, while the moon's rays highlighted the repressed humor making Edward's mouth twitch. I feigned indignation.

"Are you suggesting _I_ hog the covers or that I kick in my sleep?"

He laid his head flat against the pillow and sighed. "I said _and_ , not _or_."

When I ostensibly backed up with a huff, Edward pulled me against his chest and laughed so hard the sound reverberated against my chest.

"Shit. Shit." This time, I really did push away from Edward, swiftly sitting up and moving to the edge of the bed.

"Bella, I was just kidding," Edward chuckled, sitting up with me. "I mean, it's true, but I don't care."

"Edward, where's my phone?" I hogged the comforter and pulled it around my naked body, hissing sharply when my foot landed too heavily on the wood floors.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Edward gripped the blanket. "Your ankle, my love."

"Edward, I've got to go downstairs. I need my phone, and it's in my bag."

"Your bag is right here, Bella." I looked over my shoulder as Edward reached for my bag, which he'd placed over the crate slash nightstand. "Didn't want you looking for it in the middle of the night and hurting that ankle, so I brought it up just in case."

"Thank you," I said, giving him a quick kiss. Then, I dug into my bag, grimacing when I pulled out my phone and read the screen – two missed calls and an urgently-worded text from my agent, Jessica Stanley:

 **Bella, call me ASAP!**

"Shit."

"Everything okay?" Edward took a seat next to me, frowning now and raking a hand through his hair.

It was as I looked up at his anxious face that I realized how in my own anxiousness, I'd postponed not one but two urgent conversations. In the next moment, I further realized I couldn't even focus on one until the other took place. But it was the one which trumped the other which both startled me…and made total sense.

"Edward…do you remember when I arrived here a few hours ago, I told you I had a bit of a long story to tell you?"

"Yeah," he said slowly.

"Well, this phone call is part of that story, but before I even get to that," I swallowed, "I should tell you I ran into your dad yesterday."

The outside lights illuminated the shock in Edward's eyes and the deep, wary furrow of his brow. He opened his mouth, closed it, then angled his head sideways.

"Ran into him," he said, part statement and part question.

"I suppose it was more like I went searching for him."

"You went searching for him," he repeated in the same puzzled tone. "How…?"

"When I sprained my ankle, I ended up in the same hospital where he works and where I was taken That Day."

Edward nodded. "But my father is in Cardiology." Abruptly, his eyes widened, and his nostrils flared. "Did he come looking for you?"

"No, no. I heard him being paged, and at first, I thought they were paging you. But then I remembered there's another Doctor Cullen, and he'd be the one being paged in that hospital. So I…took the elevator up to Cardiology."

Again, Edward nodded.

"I'm not even sure why I sought him out," I confessed, "other than my thirst for answers."

"He wasn't an asshole to you, Bella, was he?" Edward's eyes narrowed, his chest heaving but no longer from our lovemaking.

"No, no." I shook my head. "I mean, he said some things, but it doesn't matter."

"Things like what?" Edward prompted.

"Edward, it doesn't matter," I smiled. "It really doesn't."

For one, long moment, Edward held me locked in his gaze, scrutinizing me. Finally, with a deep exhalation, he rested a warm hand on my thigh.

"Bella, I know I haven't always been honest or forthcoming with you-"

"Edward-"

"But I hope you know…or at least, that you're willing to give me a chance to prove that from now on when you need answers, I'll always give them to you."

"I do know that, Edward, which is why I left his office and came here. Because I realized that any answers I wanted, I wanted from you."

He smiled softly, yet there was still an edge to his tone. "I'm glad, but it _has_ to work both ways, my love."

I swallowed thickly, wrapping my hand around the one he had on my leg and flipping it over so that I could weave our fingers together.

"You're right, Edward. You're right." I nodded vehemently. "Your father and I spoke about a few things, some which I already knew, some which I didn't."

"Such as?"

"Such as…he told me that last year, after you and I broke up – for lack of a better phrase-"

"That phrase fits it pretty well," Edward nodded stoically. "At least, it felt like a break up to me."

"To me too, Edward," I said quietly. "Your dad told me that even after we broke up, you warned Alice and Jasper to stay away from me."

Edward said nothing.

"Why, Edward?" I asked.

This time, his reply was instantaneous. "Because you were right, Bella," he hissed. "You needed us all out of your life: Alice, Jasper, _and_ me. What was I but a fucking reminder? And I finally saw how selfish I'd been, putting my wants before your needs. So, if there was no other way for me to ever make things up to you, I'd at least make sure those other two assholes left you alone. I didn't tell them that I'd…that we'd almost had something going," he added carefully, "because I didn't think you'd want them up in your personal business. But I did tell them that if I ever got wind that either of them had approached you at either your home or anywhere else in this city, I'd call the cops on them myself and let them know they were violating the terms of the restraining order. And…I may have shoved Jasper around a bit." He shrugged.

I wrapped my arms around Edward's shoulders and kissed him softly, pulling away to hold his gaze.

"Even after I told you to leave me alone, you did all that for me. Jesus, no wonder."

"No wonder what?" he murmured warily.

I sighed. "Your dad asked me if I'd used you; if I knew all along that you were Alice's brother and used you to get even with her and with Jasper."

"That motherfu-"

"Shh." I silenced him with another kiss. "Let me finish. We promised one another honesty from here on out, right?"

Edward drew in a deep breath and exhaled again, nodding tightly.

"Then, please believe me when I say I don't care. I'm not bothered," I said. "I mean, yes, I was mortified at that moment, but I can see where he would've gotten that idea. You defended me all along, Edward, and to him, to any outsiders, it might seem as if I played my cards that way. Because who would think I'd fall in love with Alice's brother?"

I rested my forehead against his, and Edward shut his eyes and sighed, warming me with his breath.

"But when I'm here, with you, Edward, it doesn't matter what he thinks. It doesn't matter what anyone thinks. It doesn't matter that Alice is your sister, or that…their child is your nephew." I picked up his hand and kissed his knuckles. "None of it matters when we're together."

Strangely enough, my reply didn't seem to have the calming effect I was hoping for.

"How about when we're not together, Bella?" Edward asked. "How about when the night ends, or the next day ends, or the day after that ends, and we're not exactly together? Will it matter then?"

I swallowed hard, realizing I couldn't answer him because I didn't completely know the answer, and I didn't want to lie. And though I knew my silence wasn't what he wanted to hear, Edward smiled at me and cupped my cheek.

"Hey, I don't expect us to have all the answers right now, but it's something to think about."

"Okay," I smiled wistfully.

"Guess what?" He smiled wider, leaning in closer. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Then, for now, that's enough." With a quick peck, he pulled back and changed the subject. "So, if we're done with my idiotic father, let's move on to that phone call." He gestured with his jaw to the phone which lay gripped yet forgotten in my palm.

"Oh, yeah," I chuckled. "That's the other bit of that long story."

When I told Edward all about the meeting Jessica had arranged with Volterra Publishing, his reaction was all the awe and admiration and excitement on my behalf that had initially broken down my walls a year earlier.

"What are you waiting for, Bella?" He grinned broadly. "Return that call."

"Now?" I said nervously. "It's four in the morning."

Edward smirked at me. "She said ASAP."

He held my free, cold and clammy hand as I dialed and waited for Jessica to pick up, which she did on the second ring.

"Oh my God, I was scared you'd died right before we made it big."

"I'm alive," I said shakily, holding Edward's gaze. He offered me an encouraging smile, squeezing my hand.

"I'm not even going to beat around the bush. They want to sign you on _Gemma_ and on your outline for the three-part book series."

I squeezed my eyes shut. "Oh, my God," I breathed.

She spoke numbers I could barely understand.

"We've got to be at the office tomorrow at eight. That's a.m., Bella," she clarified.

I reopened my eyes, grinned at Edward.

"Eight a.m.; got it."

Edward chuckled and brought our entwined hands to his mouth, kissing my knuckles.

"Congratulations, my love," he whispered.

Meanwhile, Jessica kept spouting information and questions. "Did you clear your calendar? They mentioned a book tour right away."

"Uhm," my heart raced, "I promised my dad I'd spend Thanksgiving next week with him."

"Well, obviously after Thanksgiving. No one in the U.S. works on Thanksgiving."

"My calendar is clear after that."

"Good. They'll want to work out the details in the morning. Bella, you're on your way, girl!"

Jessica provided me with some more details, including extracting a vehement promise from me that I wouldn't be late to our morning meeting with Volterra Publishing. Then, we ended the call.

Edward gazed at me with a grin as if he'd known all along, always. Then, he folded me into his arms, and I gushed out all the details.

OOOOO

I met him at noon the following day – or later that day – at our coffee shop. He had his usual latte and I had my usual black coffee, and we shared sandwiches and pastries as I blurted convoluted, half sentences that barely made sense in my excitement. Yet, Edward seemed to understand it all just as he'd always had an uncanny way of understanding me. Afterward, done with our meal, he held both my hands above the table while I gushed more details, and he shared all my excitement. It was only as I reached one part of my narrative that I fell back to Earth.

"Edward, Volterra Publishing is trying out a new marketing technique. They want me to read passages from the first book at scheduled literary events around the country even before the release date they're shooting for in mid-February."

Edward nodded. "Sounds like an innovative marketing technique."

"I think so too," I agreed, "so…they're expecting me to travel – a lot – for the next few months and starting almost immediately. I'm visiting my dad in Washington for Thanksgiving next week, but from there, they want me to attend reading events in San Francisco, Tacoma, L.A., Portland, Seattle, San Diego, which is great because with Charlie – my dad – semi-retired, he'll probably be able to hang around with me."

"That _is_ great," Edward agreed. "I know you're close to your dad."

"And…after the book is published, they mentioned Europe."

"That's amazing, Bella," Edward said, squeezing my hands. "You've always wanted to travel."

"You remember."

"Of course, I do," he smiled. "I also remember you're horrible at geography as you just proved right now by mixing up all those cities, not even mentioning them in any sort of cohesive order."

I chuckled at his tension breaker, shaking my head. "You're an ass sometimes." I sighed. "I'm scared, not just about the traveling, but about…you and I…we're just getting started."

"Exactly," he said firmly, kissing my hand. "We're getting started. Bella, I hoped…but I didn't know if you and I would ever find our way to one another. I _did_ know you'd always get here. So, in those dreams I mentioned last night, you traveled on your book tours, and I traveled for work, and whenever possible, we made time for one another until we found a way to always be together."

"It sounds ideal – in a dream," I said with admitted petulance. "In reality-"

"In reality, it's yet another obstacle in a relationship fraught with them. But if we're both determined-"

"I am now," I said, turning my hands inside his and weaving our fingers together. "I am now."

"And I've always been," he smirked teasingly. "We'll figure it out. Now, take a walk with me."

I looked up at him as he stood, shirked into his jacket, and picked mine off the back of my chair.

"Where are we going?"

"If you're going to be traveling, you're getting your booster shot right now." He held my jacket up. "Also, Emmett's dying to see you. He doesn't believe me when I say we worked things out. Or rather, he does, but he's having way too much fun teasing me."

I chuckled and shook my head as I stood. "The man-bun-wearing microbiologist is teasing you?"

"Can I please tell him you said that?" he asked as he helped me into my jacket.

"How about I tell him myself?"

Edward turned me around and pulled me in my jacket lapels, kissing me and laughing. "Deal."

"And then…I have something for you. Something to keep you thinking of me while I'm gone for the next few weeks or so."

He cradled my face in his warm, strong hands. "Bella, you've given me a lifetime's worth of reasons to always have you on my mind. But greedily enough, I'm willing to take more."

OOOOO

Hasty explanations to my friends followed. I extracted an easy promise from Makenna that she wouldn't rent out my bedroom, and I gave her one in return that I'd keep up with my half of expenses. There was a tearful, last-minute visit with Rose and Vera and Rose's bulging belly, where I extracted another promise: that they wouldn't un-godmother me while I was gone. I promised to remain in constant communication with my closest friends.

And with only the barest of stolen moments in between suddenly massively busy lives for Edward _and_ me, a few days later, I left him behind with a copy of my manuscript…and with half of my heart.

OOOOO

It was my first time back in Forks, Washington – a tiny, rainy, little-known town nestled among the majestic Olympic Mountains – since before That Day. The last time I visited, I was a married woman, and I traveled here with my husband, the town's golden boy. It was one of the reasons I'd dreaded my return; Forks was minuscule in comparison to New York City. Everyone knew everyone. Everyone knew everyone's business. When Jasper and I had divorced, my dad – he himself a bit of a neighborhood gossip – had let it slip to me that for a while, we were the talk of the town.

Yet, surprisingly, Dad and I spent a couple of pleasantly uneventful days together after my arrival. I suppose enough time had passed so that even in a town as unexciting as Forks, Jasper's and my drama became old news. I went into town with my dad, greeted old friends, a few who mentioned their regrets on the demise of my marriage and on how it had come about, and a few who didn't mention it at all.

I visited my mom and Phillip, my stepdad. The visit was short, pleasant, and somewhat superficial. But I was fine with it. Therapy had taught me that I couldn't examine my mother's reasons for her actions, even if their effect on me was life-altering. I could only deal with that effect on me.

Edward and I kept in touch as much as possible. With the release of the flu booster, he was extremely busy, but we called, Face-timed, and texted in between it all.

"I told my dad about us," I told Edward that evening while we Facetimed. I strolled around the wooded back yard in my pajamas and wrapped in a blanket.

"And what did he say?" Edward was on his comfy couch, in sweats and a tee shirt.

"He wasn't happy," I said honestly.

"I get that," Edward agreed magnanimously. He raked a hand through his hair. "I never said it wasn't a strange situation."

I chuckled humorlessly, gazing up at the stars, which were never this clear in New York City. "Look," I said, holding the phone up to the sky.

"That's gorgeous."

"I know you've seen better in all your travels," I said, bringing the phone back to me. "You've described them to me."

"Soon, you'll be describing your sights to me. Bella, I'd like to meet your dad."

"Edward, I'm a grown woman. I respect my father, but I don't need his approval."

"Nevertheless, I'd like to meet him." He sighed and raked a hand through his hair yet again, his go-to gesture of frustration. "How's your arm? Did the soreness go away?"

"Yeah. Tell Emmett he's a good vaccine technician, for a man-bun-wearing microbiologist."

Edward chuckled. "Bella, right now, with the distribution of that booster, things are pretty hectic here, especially since a few cases of that strain are beginning to pop up. But it should die down once we get the booster into full distribution. You told your parents to get vaccinated, right?"

"Yes. I even accompanied my dad to the neighborhood pharmacy yesterday. Did you get your booster? Emmett mentioned the one I received was meant for you."

Edward smirked over the small phone screen. "Don't listen to him. There's plenty to go around." Then, he got to the apparent source of his frustration. "Once all this does die down, if you'd like, I can meet you on the West Coast in a few weeks."

"I know how frenzied things are for you right now."

"Yes, but I can do Christmas if you want me to."

I stopped walking. "Do you really still think I don't want you to?"

He let out a long breath.

"Let's make another promise, Edward," I said, smiling at him through the phone, "that from now on, we'll be honest with one another, even if we're communicating through a phone."

"Okay. Here we go. I still sense hesitancy from you, and believe me, I understand how fucked up this situation is, more for you than for me."

"See? That's not it at all. I mean…" I exhaled my own frustration. "It's fucked up all around, Edward. How am I supposed to make you pick between spending the holidays with me or with your family?"

Edward chuckled bitterly. "Trust me, that's not a difficult one. The only reason I'm showing up for dinner tomorrow is that my mother begged me."

"Either way, you shouldn't have to choose, yet I can't stand here, thousands of miles away, and lie to you by telling you that I'd be okay with being around your sister or your nephew. Or even your father again. Or meeting your mother. How is any of that fair to you, Edward?"

"Because I don't care," he shot out rapidly. "We'll keep things separate. I'm fine with it."

"But I'm not," I whispered. "At least, not yet."

He was silent.

"Go to bed, Edward," I said softly after a long moment. "It's late for you."

"I wanted to be the first person to wish you a happy Thanksgiving."

I swallowed thickly. "You are. Happy Thanksgiving to you too. I love you. Just because I'm having a bit of an off night doesn't mean I don't love you. A wise person once told me, 'Knowing is better than not knowing,' and he advised me to grab someone I trusted when I didn't want to walk out alone. So…I grabbed someone I trusted."

"Bella…" he sighed. "You kill me, you know that?"

"I'm sorry."

"I meant that in the best possible way. And I love you too. And I'll go to bed after I read a few more pages from the best goddamn novel ever."

He made me chuckle, always trying to cheer me up when my tendency toward anxiety took over.

"Okay."

"Let me know, whenever you're ready, about Christmas."

I nodded, my throat too tight for words.

OOOOO

Thanksgiving morning, Charlie left the house early for a few hours to take care of some paperwork in the office. Dad was accompanying me to Seattle Saturday night, where Jessica would meet us for my first book tour stop, and he was determined to stay with me for my entire time on the West Coast.

When the knock came at the door, I was wrapped in my robe, crampy with PMS and cranky with lack of coffee and lack of sleep. I sighed at the second knock and left the coffee brewing, mentally cursing Charlie for forgetting his keys and for being one of the only people in town who locked their doors. Then again, he was best friends with the Forks' Chief of Police.

"Coming!" I yelled at the impatient third knock.

He'd been about to knock again, and when I opened the door, he dropped his fisted hand, broadly grinning at me. For a second…that dark, golden hair and those innocent blue eyes pulled me back in time to when we were kids, and he was my boyfriend…

"I see you dad still locks the door."

…and he'd always complain about my dad keeping the door locked.

"What are you doing here?"

He ignored my question. "Hey, Bella," he said softly instead. "How are you?"

I stared at him and ignored his question. "What are you doing here, Jasper?" I repeated.

Jasper swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I…I arrived this morning. It was sort of last minute- hey, can I come in?"

"No."

"Just for a quick cup of coffee or something." He inhaled and smiled. "I smell it brewing."

"I don't think so. Have a good Thanksgiving." I made to shut the door, but he held it open.

"I strongly suggest you drop that hand."

"Bella, _please_ ," he pleaded, dropping his hand. "I know I don't deserve it, but in the spirit of Thanksgiving, please just let me get a few things out, and I'll leave you alone. Ten minutes, that's all I'm asking for… _begging_ for here."

I pressed my lips together into a tight line and then exhaling heavily through my nostrils, I stepped aside.

"Thank you," he breathed.

I made no reply as I padded back into the kitchen, hearing his heavy footsteps behind me. I walked straight to the coffee maker and poured myself a cup, then turned around and leaned against the counter, waiting.

Yet, for a few seconds, Jasper looked at me expectantly. When he walked to the cabinets, pulled out a mug, and served himself coffee, I wondered if he'd expected me to serve it to him.

"It's good. You always made the best coffee."

"The sugar substitute is in the drawer," I said.

He smiled at me, leaning against the counter a few feet away. "That's fine, but you remember I used sugar substitute?"

"Well, we lived together for almost seven years." I sipped my coffee, keeping my gaze front and center.

"So, how are you finding Forks? It's your first time back since- in a while, right?" he asked, obviously already knowing the answer.

"Yeah."

"Nothing changes here," Jasper said with what sounded like a note of wistfulness. "It feels good to be home, doesn't it?"

"Yeah."

"It's been a…stressful couple of years."

"Yeah." I took another sip, let my eyes wander conspicuously to the clock above the kitchen stove. "So, you're down to about six minutes."

"Bella…" He set down the mug and turned completely toward me. "Look, I just want to apologize for the way things went down."

"Oh," I nodded, "Okay. Well, that was quick and short. You remember the way out, right?"

"Bella, don't be like this."

Now, I looked at him and smiled. "Jasper, I really don't know what you expect from me here."

"God, Bella," he said, raking a hand through his hair, which somehow pissed me off because that was _Edward's_ frustrated gesture, "sometimes it feels as if the entire thing was just a nightmare."

"For my own mental health, I can't pretend it was a nightmare."

"That's not what I meant. Obviously, we can't pretend. None of us can pretend – not you, not me, not Alice, not even-"

I looked at the clock. "Four minutes."

"Fuck," he spat under his breath. "Fine. Bella, between the stress of trying to get you pregnant and the bills that were mounting from the fertility treatments, and you weren't bringing much in anymore…and everything else… Then…with Alice…Bella, I got caught up; in the big-city life, in…in the sex, the money, the thrills, when that's not _me_." He laid a palm on his chest. "Bella, you know that's not me," he stressed.

When my only answer was to glance at the clock again, he continued.

"That was never me, and you know it. It wasn't _us_. Sometimes I feel like, everything that happened was to a different version of _us_. Not the _us_ that grew up together in this small town; not the _us_ that were friends before we were lovers, not the _us_ who were husband and wife. And I think that's why we messed up so badly over there. Because we never belonged there, Bella; neither one of _us_ did." Another long sigh, while I watched him wordlessly. " _This_ is our world here. _We_ belong here. It's why I decided to come back…especially when I heard you were here."

He took a step closer, and for one, long moment, while I looked at Jasper, some wistful part of me sang a song of requiem for what we'd once been: just as he'd said, two high school seniors in love, one another's firsts, young dreamers.

"So, how is little Jasper doing?"

Jasper backed up. "He's fine, Bella." He smiled faintly, rubbed his nape. Good. "He's good. Getting big."

I nodded. "Do you realize you didn't mention your son even once in that entire speech?"

He exhaled a long breath. "Bella, of course, I'll always take care of my son. He's the most important being in my life. It doesn't mean I have to be tied to a woman I don't love for the rest of it."

"That is…pretty disgusting – and offensive toward women in general if not so much toward the specific woman we're discussing." Instinctively, I leaned in closer. "Having a child with someone actually does tie you to them in one form or another. She's your son's mother; that's a tie that binds you to her for the rest of your life."

"Fine, fine; as the mother of my son, but not as anything more." Despite his agreement, the manner in which he waved an impatient hand was pretty dismissive. "I can't be tied to her, Bella."

The impatient hand raked his long hair and fisted the locks at his crown. When he leaned in closer as well, the space between us narrowed to a mere few inches. He looked at me through long, dark eyelashes I once…adored. Wet or dry, morning, noon or night, they curved upward perfectly and contrasted strikingly with that dark blond hair. I remembered how I once hoped our child would inherit those long, dark, curled lashes. I wondered if JJ had.

When I backed away, an almost imperceptible flare widened Jasper's way-too-perfect nostrils, and again, I vaguely wondered what he'd been expecting.

"I've tried, but I can't…"

And as he spoke, he continued holding my gaze with that look of expectation, as if he was waiting for me to complete his sentence. It took me back to That Day, in the lobby, when he stood there as I offered him an out, a second chance, and he allowed Alice to speak for him.

When seconds passed, and I made no attempt to finish his thought for him, Jasper offered me another frustrated sigh.

"I can't because…because Bella, I still love-"

Here, I did respond swiftly, throwing a hand up, palm out, between us.

"Jasper, for the sake of my mental well-being as much as for the sake of your balls – actually, for the sake of everyone involved who you're apparently forgetting here, let me stop you right there."

"Bella, I made a mistake. I know I did."

"I know you did too." I offered him a shrug and a mirthless chuckle. "It doesn't change anything."

"You're still angry, and you have a right to be. What I did was…it was pretty fucked up and almost unforgivable. But what you're doing now, Bella, to get even with me, it makes no sense."

"What I'm doing?" I asked, furrowing my brow. "What exactly am I-"

"Edward. You can't possibly be serious about him, Bella."

The name, the answer was so unexpected I drew back and had no time to disguise my shock. Jasper smirked.

"How do you even know-?"

He snorted. "How long did you think it would take for all of us to find out? We're a family, Bella," he said mockingly, "whether we like it or not. Things get around. I…suspected last year, when he came over with his fucking outrage, making threats he had no right to make. But then I heard nothing else about it. So, I figured, whatever you'd started with him to piss me off, you'd come to your senses and ended. But again, Bella?" he asked in reproach.

I glared at him, fighting with myself and my inner demons, the ones he brought out in me; the ones guiding me through flight or fight. But…I'd spent years learning how to exorcise Jasper and what he did to me. He was a walking trigger, and only two other people on Earth were bigger triggers to me than him. Right now, as he held my gaze, he was pushing all my buttons, and he knew it. And I saw it all so clearly suddenly:

Jasper _wanted_ to keep me on edge and off-kilter, the way he'd done so throughout our entire marriage, to control me through my own fears, so that every time I broke just a little, he'd pretend to be the one to put me back together.

So, yes, I would fight…but not the way I did That Day. I'd fight with the tools I'd learned since.

"Does Alice even know you're here?" I asked.

He shrugged nonchalantly, but I caught the almost imperceptible widening of his eyes.

"I don't know, and I don't care. As I said, I'm done with her."

"You should care. For your son, obviously, but also because if she finds out, she'll tell Edward. Like you said, one big happy family."

His jaw tightened. "And what do I care? He warned me to stay away from you, but if you want me back, what's he going to say? Bella, come on." Another step forward. "I know I hurt you. I know what I did was wrong. Give me a chance to make it up to you."

"Jasper, in the middle of the most stressful period of my life, I took a walk to clear my head, and instead I saw you through a window, fucking one of my best friends."

"Jesus, Bella," he choked.

"For months afterward, every time I closed my eyes, that's all I saw. I saw Alice's head thrown back in ecstasy while you rammed into her, and your bare ass gyrated wildly between her legs and up against an open window. I heard Alice screaming at me in that lobby, telling me it was all my fault because I couldn't give you a baby, and even louder than all that, do you know what I heard?"

He swallowed but made absolutely no sound, and a man over six feet tall, more or less Edward's height, suddenly appeared half his size.

"Exactly," I nodded. "That's right. I heard your silence. But do you want to know the _worst_ part, even worse than your silence?"

"I'm not sure I do," he replied, his voice quivering.

"Well, you're going to hear it because _you_ decided to stop by. Honestly," I snorted, "you thought you were going to come here and what? What did you think you were going to find here, Jasper?"

He didn't reply. Instead, he dropped his head, trying to hide his face from me, but I'd known Jasper since we were about ten and his family moved to Forks from Seattle. We'd dated since senior year of high school. I knew him, and had I not been in the midst of undiagnosed clinical depression in the months preceding the incident…preceding my break, I would've known he was cheating.

"Here's the worst part, the part which haunted me long after my pain turned to anger, and that anger led me to therapy which led me to support and friendship and finally, to true, honest love. The worst part is that I _begged_ you. _That's_ what haunted me long after."

The words came out strangled, and I had to swallow past the tightness in my throat to continue, but they were reactions caused by the recollection of pain, not actual agony; not anymore.

"That's the last part which has kept me from completely reclaiming my self-respect, my self-confidence, and my trust in myself and in my decisions. I begged you to come back to me, even after what I'd just seen. And because I couldn't trust myself, I couldn't forgive mistakes." I shook my head ruefully. "And it took me longer than it should've to understand the one man who did deserve my understanding. So, you know what, Jasper, I think I can forgive you."

He looked up, startled. But then a shaky, cautious smile lifted one corner of his mouth and slowly spread to the other corner. It was a good-looking face, one I once loved.

"You can?"

"Yes. I can forgive you. What you did broke me, but I put myself back together. What would've really done me in would've been if you'd actually come back to me that day."

"What?" he spat.

"Sure, we would've avoided that lobby incident, but we would've been miserable – both of us, in a marriage with such an epic betrayal between us. Who knows if either of us would've ever found the strength to end the farce? You would've kept fucking around, and my mental health, my self-respect, and my self-confidence may have never recovered. On the other hand, I've come out stronger, and while I won't exactly thank you for the way you forced me to deal with my issues," I chuckled, "I _can_ forgive you. And hopefully, that'll make things easier with any future interactions you and I are required to have."

"What future interactions would we have?" he hissed. "I'm not going back to Alice."

"That's your business. But here's the thing, Jasper. I may forgive, but I won't forget. I can't because every time I look at you, all I see is your bare ass gyrating wildly against a window."

I made a face which must've conveyed my disgust because Jasper flinched, and his face turned an almost alarming shade of scarlet. For a second, I thought his head might explode. Before that could happen, I pushed myself off the counter and walked toward the door.

"Now, we're way past the ten-minute mark I allotted you," I said, hearing his heavy footsteps behind me. "Oh yeah, and one last thing," I said as I opened the front door. "Your jersey-"

"You found it?" he asked, standing just outside the door.

"Yeah. Well, my dad found it just a few days ago while he was emptying some luggage cases. It looks like it got mixed up with his stuff after those six months he spent in New York with me."

"Where is it now? I'd like to at least…have that back."

"He gave it away to Goodwill."

"What?"

"Well, he asked me what to do with it, and I'll be honest: I was _never_ going to give it back to you, Jasper," I chuckled. "And _I_ sure as hell didn't want it. So, I figured, the best thing would be to give it away to a sports enthusiast who might actually get some good use from it; someone who'll never know the betrayal tainting that jersey. Someone who could just," I shrugged, "enjoy it. Okay, take care, Jasper."

I shut the door.

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

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" **See" you soon. :)**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Thank you all so much for all your wonderful thoughts.**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine as well.**

* * *

 **Break - Chapter 18: The Butterfly Effect**

"You know, you're just getting him all the more worked up."

"As if I shouldn't? As if he shouldn't be all worked up at this?"

"Your father's one hundred percent correct, Bella, and I'm going to fucking…"

Through the laptop screen resting on my lap, I watched Edward sigh and then apologize in the next moment.

"I'm sorry, sir, for my language."

"That's fine, son. That little motherfucker brings out the same in me."

I rolled my eyes. Behind me, Charlie paced back and forth while I sat on his couch and massively regretted having accepted Edward's third furious Facetime call of the day in the living-room. But I'd already locked myself up in my old bedroom twice that morning, attempting to calm Edward down. At this point, the Thanksgiving turkey was in danger of overcooking.

"Thank you, sir, and in that case, I see no reason why I shouldn't take the next flight up, and kick that bastard's ass."

"I agree. I'd do it myself, but then I've got to live in the same town with his parents, and it gets awkward. But don't worry about law enforcement. The Chief of Police is my buddy."

"Dad! Jesus!"

"That's the least of my concerns, but thank you, sir."

"No problem."

As we spoke, Edward sat at his desk. I recalled how it was the only untidy part of his otherwise sparse but neat apartment, and it overflowed with all manner of papers, documents, and reference books. He scrolled through his phone with laser focus, still at home, still undressed for the day in a tee shirt and sweats even though he should've already been at his parent's.

"The reason you shouldn't take a flight up here is because I'm asking you not to, and if you respect me at all," I added firmly, "you'll stop disregarding me and stop searching for flights."

All the air seemed to expel itself from Edward's lungs. He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw squared tight and nostrils flaring. His thumbs stopped moving, and when he flung his phone furiously over his desk, the displaced papers went flying everywhere.

For a moment, we were silent.

"Bella, that was hitting below the belt. If the man wants to come, let him come."

I turned and took in my dad over my shoulder.

"Are you still here? Seriously, Dad, I love you, and I know this is your house, but you need to stay out of this."

He pursed his lips but said nothing more.

"Can you do me a favor and go in the kitchen and check on that turkey? Mom, Phil, the guys, and your buddy the Chief will all be here soon."

"Fine, fine." He sighed and looked over my shoulder at my laptop screen. "Edward, you have yourself a good Thanksgiving. I wasn't…sure, but you're a decent guy, and I look forward to meeting you."

"Thank you, sir. I look forward to meeting you too."

"Calmed down?" I asked Edward quietly once my dad finally left the room.

Again, Edward expelled a heavy, frustration-laden breath. He raked a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly in his fist. So, the answer seemed to be no.

"What am I supposed to do, Bella? Nothing?"

"Yeah. That's exactly what you're supposed to do."

"That mother… _fucker_ ," he spat, "went looking for you all the fucking way up there. He boarded a goddamn six-hour flight, and- how long's the drive from Seattle to Forks?"

"A couple of hours or so." I shrugged.

"Took a two-hour fucking drive to come see you and…and to ask you to take him back." Edward's last words quivered, and I could tell it was part fury and part bewilderment. "And you're asking me to do absolutely nothing about it."

"Edward, listen to me," I said softly. "You're reading way too much into it. Jasper is fickle and capricious, and the entire thing was a whim."

"A whim?" Edward echoed flatly. "He'd do all that for a whim." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I don't see it."

"You don't see it because you're not that type of man, and because you weren't married to him for seven years."

Edward exhaled through his nostrils, obviously still unconvinced.

"Edward," I tried again, "you've told me, and…your dad told me, even my dad told me that the grass stopped looking greener on the other side for Jasper not long after his son was born. Jasper has never been the type to deal with hardships in a relationship, Edward. He's too superficial, too self-centered to stick around through the hard times. He's had it too easy all his life. I mean, he grew up in a small town as the town's golden boy, the most popular boy in high school, married the sweet girl next door, and moved off with her to the big city to realize his big city dreams. When things got rough with me, when the next step in his idea of perfection didn't come as easily as everything else had so far, he simply moved on. And when what he'd move on to got difficult, when he realized being a good father might take some work, and maybe Alice wasn't quite so much fun anymore-"

Edward snorted.

"-he turned his memories of our relationship into the ideal perfection, which it took _me_ a while to realize had never been the case. The point is, Jasper didn't come back for _me_ , Edward."

"So, what did he go back for?" Edward asked.

"He came back to reclaim his idea of perfection: the golden boy life. When he heard through the Forks grapevine that I was here, he figured it was his chance, but he didn't want _me_ ; he wanted it easy again. And now that he knows I'm not that same girl, that same woman anymore who bent over backwards to make things easy for him, he won't come knocking again." I chuckled. "Believe me, he won't."

"It's not you I have no faith in, Bella."

"Then _trust_ me," I said again. "Trust me to let you know when I can handle a situation on my own, and when I need you to step out with me, when I need your support. Edward, as much as I would love having you here with me, we both have responsibilities to take care of right now."

Edward sighed again, sweeping his eyes away from and toward those large, beautiful, industrial windows, and rubbing his jaw hard.

"Bella, after you told me what happened this morning, I got on the phone with my father because I had to know if he'd done something stupid. Sure enough," Edward huffed, "he admitted that after you visited him, he suspected you and I were seeing one another again. So, he took it upon himself to quietly warn Jasper to keep his distance from you should I ever bring you around."

"And Jasper did the exact opposite," I snorted.

"God, Bella, I'm so sorry," Edward said miserably. "It's like no matter what I do, I can't keep them away from you."

"It's not your fault, Edward."

"Except it kind of is," he retorted, "when I swore to you once that I'd never let them hurt you again. Yet by falling in love with you, I made it practically unavoidable."

"By my falling in love with you, I've caused an even bigger rift between you and your family."

"You've got to stop that, Bella. I don't want you blaming yourself, when my relationship with them was already rocky."

"Then you need to stop blaming yourself when I have to deal with them. Edward, maybe we should just…"

"What?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. "What, Bella? Remember what we said. All honesty now, even if we have to share over phone and laptop screens."

"Maybe we should both stop pretending and acknowledge that, if you and I are going to have a future together, then at one point or another, we're all going to be at the same place at the same time, and I should just prepare myself for the eventuality."

He swallowed hard, and even through the screen, I saw the up and down motion of his Adam's Apple.

OOOOO

A few days later, my dad and I set out for Seattle, where we met up with Jessica Stanley, my agent, Marcus Michaels, the rep from Volterra Publishing, who was editing my novel, and Marcus' assistant, Seth Samuels.

Volterra Publishing had set up an aggressive marketing tour for me between Thanksgiving weekend and the New Year. In addition to a few major cities on the West Coast, we'd be hitting a number of mid-states before heading back to the East Coast for a few city appearances there.

"Babe, I know you're going to have a blast, but please don't forget to take care of yourself, eat well, and get as much rest as possible." Edward asked this of me one night toward the beginning of my tour. "I'll admit I'm a bit nervous at the idea of your jogging every morning around unknown cities, given your knack for walking into the middle of intersections without paying attention, so maybe just don't neglect your Yoga."

"You're an ass sometimes," I chuckled. But then I smiled softly at the screen. "All of it is tied together – body and mind. I know, and I'll take care of myself. I promise."

I called Edward every chance I had and told him all my adventures, the fancy hotels in which I stayed while in Seattle, Portland, L.A., San Francisco, etc. I described the sights I took in while in between literary readings, meet and greets, and editing sessions. In turn, he told me all about what was going on with him. With the flu season on the East Coast in full swing, he was ensuring the distribution of the second batch of the booster went as planned as well as prepping for his next trip abroad: a yearly meeting of various health officials at the Switzerland Headquarters of the World Health Organization, which occurred sometime in late February or so.

"So, we might be in Europe around the same time," I said, "since Volterra is aiming for a release in mid-February, and they want me in London soon after."

"God, baby, I'm so proud of you," Edward said while we Facetimed yet again, this time from a hotel room in Dallas.

"Don't be too proud just yet. _Gemma_ can still flop royally once it's released."

"That's not going to happen," Edward said firmly, shaking his head. "You've told me yourself the response you've received so far is encouraging, and I know of your tendency to downplay things, so I can only imagine."

I chuckled at how well he did know me.

"Bella, I can meet you in London if you'd like."

"Edward, I'd love that."

"Good," he breathed.

And by then, two weeks before Christmas, I missed Edward too much to play games about whether he should be with me or with his family for that holiday. They'd gotten Thanksgiving.

"And Edward…I'll be in Miami on Christmas Eve," I said, "if you still want to-"

"I'll be there," he smiled. "I was just waiting for you to ask."

We gazed quietly at one another through our laptop screens. He was in his bed, and I was on the bed in my hotel room. Thankfully, everyone had their own room.

"You look a bit tired, Edward," I pointed out after a few moments, trailing a finger over the screen, where dark circles rung his eyes. "You're always reminding me to take care of myself, but I hope you're taking care of yourself as well."

"I'm fine," he shrugged. "I just miss you. If I had you here in bed with me right now…" He trailed off.

"Tell me what you'd do to me if you had me there right now," I whispered huskily.

"You want me to tell you?" he asked.

"Yes."

Edward quirked an eyebrow. "With how much detail?" His voice was thick and hoarse.

"With _exact_ detail, Edward."

OOOOO

"What's wrong, Bella?" Edward asked over my small phone screen a couple of weeks later.

"Nothing." I smiled and sighed. Conga drums resounded noisily around me in the Miami Cuban restaurant where Dad, Jessica, myself and the rest were having dinner. "I'm just tired, and I'm not sure I'm up for this tonight. It smells weird in here."

"It does not smell weird. It smells amazing!" Jessica disagreed to my left. "And Cuban food tonight was your idea!"

"Whatever."

"Bella, have you been trying to get as much rest as possible?" Edward asked.

"Yes."

"No, she hasn't, Edward," Charlie, seated to my right, answered for me.

"Do you two mind?" I said shortly. "This is my conversation with Edward. You can both call him later yourselves if you want to hold a conversation with him."

Charlie chuckled, and Edward snorted.

"Ed, Bells has been cranky for the past few days."

"I just…I feel a bit off, like I'm coming down with something." I shrugged lethargically.

"Do you have a fever?"

"No."

"Vomiting?" Edward sounded alarmed now, and I regretted bringing my inexplicable malaise up at all.

"No. A bit dizzy here and there, but no biggie."

"No biggie?" Edward sighed. "Bella, babe, please go get examined. You don't want to get sick while on the road. Your immune system is probably compromised-"

"Edward, tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and you'll be here, and I'll feel just…"

"Bella, come on," Edward said sternly. "I'm excited to see you too but missing someone doesn't cause sickness."

"Ouch," I smirked.

He chuckled so hard he ended up coughing. "You might've caught a virus, or you might just need some supplements. Either way, go to a doctor."

"I've got to pick you up from the airport tomorrow."

"I can take a cab."

"No. I want to meet you at the airport."

Edward pursed his lips. "Fine, then go to the doctor in the morning. You don't have an event until late afternoon, correct?"

"Yes," I snapped.

Again, Edward chuckled, and again, the chuckle turned into a cough. "You _are_ cranky," he said, clearing the cough from his throat and shaking his head from side to side.

"Edward, are you okay? You've had that cough for a few days. I hope you're taking your own advice."

"Ahh, but I _am_ a doctor. You, on the other hand, better go see one. Tomorrow. A.M."

"Fine, fine." I rolled my eyes.

OOOOO

"So, what brings you here today, Miss Swan?"

The walk-in clinic, one of the many which had popped up around the country over the past few years, was conveniently located, as were most. This one was right off the hotel's lobby.

The doctor on staff was a Stacy Gerandy, a young, pretty woman who looked more like she should be pledging a sorority than giving me medical advice. But, I promised Edward, so there I was.

"I think I might have the flu."

She nodded, her bright pink hair cascading over her shoulders and contrasting attractively with her white, lab coat as she read my chart. She sat across from me on a high stool, her legs crossed while my legs dangled from the examination table.

"Did you receive the flu vaccine this season?"

"Yes – and the booster as well," I added.

Doctor Gerandy looked up from my chart and smiled, showcasing a set of perfect, white teeth.

"I was just about to ask. Good, good. That booster's been a lifesaver. It's a pretty nasty strain, and although there are a few cases being reported, at least there's the booster, though there's a shortage until the next batch is delivered."

"A shortage? I thought there was enough to go around."

"Well, with the first batch, there was. But because most people wait until things get bad before being inoculated, they're now coming out in droves, and most have to wait for a second batch. Therefore, I'm glad to know you didn't wait."

I didn't tell her the only reason I hadn't waited was because my boyfriend was basically responsible for the booster. And then…I frowned, recalling a conversation with Edward-

"Miss Swan?"

I blinked back to the present. "I'm sorry, what did you say, Doctor?"

She offered me a friendly smile. "I asked about your symptoms, Miss Swan."

"My symptoms," I nodded. "Well, I'm…pretty exhausted lately, even to the point of lethargy. A bit nauseous too. I've been traveling quite a bit over the past few weeks, on a book tour, and eating out a lot more than usual."

"Congratulations on the book tour," she grinned. "What book, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Well, it hasn't been released yet," I qualified self-consciously. "I'm doing readings and meet and greets in anticipation of the book's release early next year."

" _Gemma?"_

"Yes," I said, my eyes growing wide.

"Oh my God. All my med school friends and I are dying to buy a copy as soon as it's released. We're attending tonight's reading at the Barnes and Nobles in Coral Gables. You're _Isabella_ Swan?"

"Yes," I smiled sheepishly.

Young Doctor Gerandy laid a palm over her mouth and then her heart. Then, she fanned herself.

"I'm fan-girling wildly right now."

I chuckled, feeling my face turn red.

"I'm embarrassing you – and myself," she chuckled. "I'll stop, I'll stop. But just so you'll know, you've got about thirty copies already sold in my group of friends alone."

"Thank you so much."

She waved if off and sat up straight. "Okay. Let me recall I'm a professional here," she joked. "Where were we?" She looked down at her chart and at the notes she'd been taking. "Oh, yes. Exhaustion, nausea. Lots of traveling and eating out. That might do it, but…" She looked back up at me. "When was the date of your last period?"

"Uhm…last month? Around…" I shut one eye, thinking… "around Thanksgiving, I'd say. I think."

"You think?" She angled her head sideways, pretty pink hair cascading down her shoulder.

"I don't _exactly_ recall," I murmured. "I mean, I remember pms-ing, but I don't recall my actual period."

"Are you sexually active, Miss Swan?"

"Yes. Well, not for the past few weeks unless you count phone sex."

Doctor Gerandy smiled. "Phone sex is great, but in this case, it doesn't count."

I chuckled ruefully. "Yes, I'm sexually active – but I'm not pregnant, if that's what you're thinking, Doctor."

The doctor kept smiling. "How do you know? Have you taken a pregnancy test?"

"No. No, but…pregnancy isn't a possibility for me."

"You _are_ sexually active?" she echoed.

"Yes," I repeated. "But I'm infertile. That's why I don't keep much track of my periods. I know I had it over Halloween, but beyond that, I can't remember dates."

"But you know you had it last month?"

"I'm sure I must've."

The doctor held my gaze steadily. "When you say you're infertile, how so?"

"My eggs aren't easily fertilized. They have a hard, outer shell."

"Ah," she nodded sagely. "Yes. I know the condition. However, I don't believe it's actually classified as infertility, more that it makes conception difficult."

"Well, no; it's not classified infertility, but in my case, it is. My ex-husband and I tried to get pregnant for three years, Doctor, two of those years through fertility treatments and Invitro. None of it ever took."

"Was his sperm tested for mobility?"

"Yes. It was normal."

"Mm," she nodded. "It sounds as if it was a stressful period," she added softly; sympathetically.

"It was," I replied just as quietly.

"Hmm. Miss Swan, how about we do this?" She set her chart on the counter. "Let's give you a pregnancy test, and-"

"Doctor, honestly, a pregnancy test would be a waste of time. I've taken dozens in my lifetime, and they were always negative, and the thought of another…" I shuddered. "I'm pretty sure I just have a mild case of the flu, maybe some strain that wasn't covered in either the vaccine or the booster? Or perhaps I'm coming down with a cold or something. Or a stomach bug. Like I said, I've been traveling a lot, shaking quite a few hands, and I probably caught some germ or another. Antibiotics should do the trick."

The doctor shot me a bland smile. "Ah, the beauty of the internet and its assistance in self-diagnosis. Pretty soon, we doctors will be obsolete."

When she grinned playfully, I grimaced.

"I apologize, Doctor. You're right. _You_ are the expert here. Still, I maintain that a pregnancy test would be a waste of time, and I do have to pick up my boyfriend from the airport in about an hour, so…"

"So, why don't we give you a pregnancy test-" she continued, and when I opened my mouth to protest, she held up a palm, " _just_ to rule that out? You say you've taken dozens of them, you know how quickly they deliver results. You just pee on the stick, and voila." She snapped her fingers. "Positive or negative."

I sighed, and she offered me an apologetic smile.

"Miss Swan, considering your symptoms, I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't perform a pregnancy test first. And then you'll get me off your back," she grinned, bouncing playfully in her seat, "and we'll go ahead and explore all other possibilities for your symptoms. Yes?"

I chuckled in surrender. "Sure, Doctor."

OOOOO

About an hour later, I was at Terminal N, in front of Baggage Claim, awaiting Edward. He'd sent me a short and obviously hasty text that morning, atypical misspellings and all, confirming his flight.

My heart raced as the conveyor belt began its slow, circular rotation, another confirmation that the flight had indeed arrived. When those first few passengers began circling the belt, another confirmation that Edward had arrived in Miami, my heart tried to slam out of my chest.

"Relax, Bella." I smiled to myself. "He'll be here soon. Relax."

Yet more passengers from the flight crowded the designated Baggage Claim area - families, young men and women, senior citizens. The conveyor looped and looped. Those passengers lucky enough to be the first to claim their bags hastily made their way out of the airport and into the Miami heat.

The stragglers arrived, those last to deplane for various reasons: babies in strollers, older people in wheelchairs, those in no rush.

Yet, no Edward.

Frowning, I double-checked Edward's flight info on my phone, cross-referencing it with the digital flight info above the conveyor belt.

"It's the right one," I murmured to myself.

I waited.

The crowd around the conveyor belt diminished. Luggage bags grew sparse. My heart thrummed in my chest.

I called him. When Edward's recorded voice came on, my breaths accelerated.

"Edward? Babe? I'm here at the airport, in front of the baggage claim?" I wasn't sure why I made it into a question. "Where are you? Is everything okay? Did you miss your flight? Call me. Love you."

Ending the call, I looked up at the Baggage Claim area again. It was empty. All luggage had been retrieved, and the next flight's information had replaced Edward's flight.

Nausea, stronger than any I'd felt over the past few days, rolled thick in my stomach. Again, I tried calling Edward. Again, his message answered. And again. When my phone finally vibrated, relief flooded every bone until I caught sight of the name of the caller.

"Dad, I can't talk right now," I rushed out.

"What's wrong, Bells? I just called to find out what the doctor said to you this morning and to make sure you found Edward okay at the airport."

"He's not here."

"What do you mean he's not there?"

"I mean he's not here!" I yelled, taking out my frustration on my poor dad.

"Was his flight delayed?"

"No," I said much more quietly. "His flight-"

My phone vibrated with another call.

"Dad, I gotta go. I'll call you back."

"Bel-"

I hung up, and when I saw the next caller's ID, I whimpered quietly. For a couple of seconds, I merely stared at the phone before putting it to my ear.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Bella," Emmett breathed. "I'm not sure what…" he exhaled heavily through the phone. "He came into the office for some last minute- he collapsed, Bella. We're in the hospital. They're running tests and bloodwork."

"Can I speak to him?" I sobbed openly.

"He's unconscious."

"Oh, God." My legs felt like jelly, as if at any moment, they might give, and my tears fell hard with absolutely no care or awareness of my surroundings. But then, I drew in a breath and straightened. "I'll be there as soon as I can get a flight out."

"Let me know your flight information. I'll pick you up."

OOOOO

I don't recall the two-plus-hours flight. I only have vague, hazy images of staring listlessly at a food tray, of half-formed thoughts, memories, regrets, hopes, prayers.

Emmett met me at the airport. I must've conveyed my flight information to him at some point. He looked exhausted, his man-bun skewed and wild atop his head.

"How is he?" I asked immediately. "Has he woken?"

Emmett shook his head miserably. "He's in and out of consciousness. He has…an extremely high fever, Bella."

"Let's go," I said.

Emmett had a car waiting. As the driver made his way through New York City's late afternoon traffic, I questioned Emmett some more in the back seat.

"What does he have, Emmett?"

"We're not exactly sure, but-"

"He caught it, didn't he? The strain. He gave me his booster, and he caught it."

"Like I said, we're not sure, Bella. It might be that," he conceded.

"Why the fuck didn't he just get another booster?"

"The first batch went quickly, Bella. We were waiting for the second-"

"He should've never given me his- or…I don't know," I choked, shaking my head. "I don't even know now."

Emmett offered me a slight frown of confusion. But then he simply sighed.

"Look, I get his reasoning. I do. You were going to be traveling, and even if he suspected there might be a shortage, he wanted to make sure you were okay."

Silent tears streaked my cheeks. "But…he's such a health freak. How could he get so sick so quickly?"

"Bella, Edward has been going non-stop for months – for years even. He's healthy, yeah, but he pushes himself to extreme limits, and a body, regardless of how healthy it is, can only take so much before it protests. I was hoping that now, with you…" he held my gaze, "that you'd get him to slow down."

"And instead, I was off doing my own-"

"Hey," Emmett snapped. "Don't you dare. You know if Edward was here, he wouldn't even want to hear you finish that sentence."

I nodded.

When my phone vibrated, I looked at the screen and saw Rose's name.

"Rose, Edward's sick," I said as soon as I answered. Then, I explained the situation to her.

"So, what do the doctors say?" she asked gently.

"They don't know yet. His fever is high- Rose, I know as an empowered woman, I'm not supposed to live for a man, but if anything happens to Edward," I choked.

Rose was quiet for a few seconds.

"Bella, honey, I know as a therapist, I've always proclaimed that one person shouldn't live for another person, but as just plain old Rose…Bella, I know what it means to give half your heart to someone and not know how you'd ever survive without it."

I cried noiselessly. "Thank you."

"Do you want me to meet you at the hospital?" In an instant, I heard Vera's protests in the background, and I couldn't blame her at all.

"No," I smiled despite the situation. "No, Rosie. I'll call you and let you know what's going on, okay?"

"Okay," Rose agreed. "Listen, can I speak to Edward's friend."

"Sure." I handed Emmett the phone. "My friend Rose wants to speak with you."

"Emmett McCarty," Emmett answered. "Hi. Yeah, I'm Edward's friend. Yeah. Well, we're not sure yet. Yeah. Yeah, sure I will. She's the most important person in the world to my- no, no; I've got to agree with your wife; if you're pregnant, it's probably not ideal for you to show up at the hospital, especially when we're not even sure yet…"

I sighed and turned my attention to the window, to those windows that always seemed to offer such a false sense of security as the world whizzed by.

OOOOO

Charlie called again as Emmett and I stepped out of the car and rushed in through 'Emergency.'

"Hi, Dad." We made our way through the sickeningly sterile hallways of a place I hated more and more with every visit.

"Hey, Bells, I just wanted to make sure you arrived okay."

Dad sounded anxious, and I marveled at the fact that again, I had only a vague, hazy recollection of having called him back to offer a hasty explanation for why I was on my way to New York City.

"Yes, I just got to the hospital. Emmett, Edward's friend picked me up from the airport."

"Oh, thank God," my dad breathed over the phone. "Bells, Jessica says not to worry about this evening's appearance or the next few days. She's got it all under control."

"Tell her I said thanks, Dad. I've gotta go, okay?"

"All right. Call me when you can."

As I hung up, and Emmett and I stepped into the elevator, I shook my head at how little those book readings mattered now, in the grand scheme of things. All of a sudden, the numbers on the elevator's digital display were acutely more important, as they changed from 1 to 2 to 3…4, and finally dinged on the fifth floor. Emmett and I rushed out.

"This way, Bella," he said, guiding me down hallways, easily bypassing security with a nod. We turned left then right, past the nurses' station and through doors marked ICU.

"We're almost there," he said. I picked up speed, heart racing in tune with my steps. I passed Emmett.

"Which way, Emmett? Which way?"

"Take a right at the end of that-"

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Strange, how I hadn't even thought of her once the entire flight over here, nor during the traffic-filled drive, nor up the elevator or down the hallways. Yet, I supposed, in its own stupid way, it made sense she'd be here.

And I further supposed it was due to where my thoughts unexpectedly were that afternoon, that as she began a slow stalk toward me, with her petite figure and perfectly-proportioned hips furiously swaying from side to side, with her long, golden hair swinging like a pendulum, and with her bewildered blue eyes wide, I stopped for a moment to consider how she hadn't inherited many physical features from her father. Therefore, she didn't share much with her brother; one of the reasons I never consciously associated them as siblings when Edward and I first "met." Though, if one studied them closely, they might catch a vague resemblance in the shape of their eyes…their foreheads.

But all that passed through my mind in a fraction of a second.

"I said what are you doing here, Bella? Only family is allowed here."

"Bella, ignore her," I heard behind me while she kept stepping toward me, her pace picking up speed _and_ confidence.

I'd prepared for this moment – more in the past few weeks since Edward and I got together than previously. Previously, I'd simply hoped this moment would never arrive. However, Jasper's unexpected Thanksgiving visit forced me to face the fact that sooner or later, I'd have to deal with all of them. Surprisingly, of the three biggest triggers in my life, Jasper was last on the list. The woman with whom he'd betrayed me trumped him. And their child…their child…

Yet, Jasper's visit had also left me feeling somewhat empowered, even encouraged that once faced with all three triggers, I'd react 'correctly.' All my therapy would kick in, and I'd say the right words.

"Bella, you don't belong here. You need to go."

"She belongs here more than you do. Bella, don't listen to her."

"Emmett, mind your business. You don't speak for my brother."

"And you fucking do?" he snorted. "Please."

I'd planned my reaction and my words based on a variety of _her_ possible reactions:

Continuous and inexplicably backward-thinking hatred, indignation, provocation, etc.

Or regret, remorse, apology, etc. – a highly doubtful set of possibilities, obviously. Yet, I'd planned.

But _this_ scenario… _this_ one, _this_ place, I'd _never_ planned for any of this. Neither had I noticed that as she'd stalked toward me down the long, narrow hallway, I'd stalked toward her as well. Or should I say, I'd kept walking. And when I opened my mouth, my unplanned and ungovernable words reflected all the terror and lack of control I felt in that moment.

"Alice, I don't have the time nor the patience for your bullshit, so get the hell out of my way. Which way now, Emmett?"

"He's just down this-"

"No," Alice hissed. "No. You don't get to see him."

I felt a tug on my arm, and I spun around, simultaneously shaking her off hard.

"Fuck," I heard expelled heavily beside me.

For what felt like an eternity I _knew_ was only a fraction of a moment, I stared at this woman whom I'd once thought destroyed my life; a woman whom I'd once come to fear; a woman whom lately I'd come to dread meeting again. But now…

Now, she was nothing more than a bothersome, pesky insect – a bothersome pesky insect who'd chosen the worst possible moment to come buzzing around.

"I'm going to tell you this once and only once. You touch me again, you'd better be ready to lose a limb. Emmett, let's go," I said, turning again. Emmett moved behind me and guided me with a hand on my shoulder.

"Just who the hell do you think you are, Bella, coming up here to see my brother?"

I kept walking.

"We're almost there, Bella," Emmett said encouragingly.

"My brother might be stupid enough to think you really care about him, but I don't buy it."

Doctor Cullen and a beautiful woman I instantly knew was Edward's mom abruptly emerged from the last room at the end of the hallway. All the while Alice continued.

"I know this was always about getting Jasper back!"

"Alice, enough," the woman I knew was Esme said.

Alice kept going.

"You couldn't just leave well enough alone!"

"Damn it, Alice; your brother's unwell, and we're in a hospital," Carlisle hissed.

Alice kept going.

"That's why he could never get you out of his head. Because you're a sneaky, little-"

"ALICE!" Carlisle and Esme roared in unison.

I spun around once more, took four steps forward, raised my hand back and connected it with her face.

Silence rung in my ears. Finally, Alice straightened, blew her long, golden hair out of her mouth, and glared at me.

"Your brother, the only man I've ever really loved, is sick, so you chose the wrong fucking moment because I can't even think- When Jasper came looking for me, I gave him ten minutes. You, I'll spare thirty seconds. I'm going to repeat to you what you said to me last year when _you_ broke the conditions of the restraining order. If you want to continue this, there will be consequences, one way or another. You're delusional, and you need help, and if I were a better person, I might feel sorry for you. But I'm not, so I'm done with you."

I spun around.

When I finally reached Carlisle and Esme, we greeted one another hastily.

"Bella, hi, I'm Esme. Edward's mother," she said, her naturally beautiful face pale with worry.

"Hi."

"Bella, I'm glad you came," Carlisle said.

I merely nodded. "So, what is it? What's wrong with him?"

"We're waiting on the bloodwork," Carlisle said.

"His fever is the worst part," Esme said, wringing her hands. "It's so high. He was hallucinating before, calling out for you, Bella. Now, he's just still. I'm so glad you're here. Come on." She wrapped a warm hand around my shoulder and made to guide me into the room.

I stood my ground. "So," I said, my voice trembling, "we don't know what it is?"

"No, not yet." Again, she guided me toward the room.

"I can't go in there," I whispered.

Esme looked at me, her brow furrowing much as her son's sometimes did.

"Bella, don't worry. There are scrubs and masks we can wear to take pre-"

"I can't."

"Bella," Carlisle said quietly, "I'm sure if my son sees you he'll feel much-"

"I love him with all my heart and soul," I choked, shaking my head, "but I can't take the risk."

For half a minute, no one spoke. No one moved. And all the while, I could feel Alice right behind me, a few short feet away.

"Daddy, can I go in and see Edward?"

Carlisle's Adam's apple bobbed, his green eyes on me. "Uhm…yeah. Yes, Alice. Come on, let's go prep you."

As they walked into Edward's room, Esme gently squeezed my arm and offered me a sad smile.

"I'm going to go in with them, okay, Bella?"

I nodded.

"Thanks for coming."

When we were left alone, Emmett cleared his throat.

"It's all right, Bella. Everyone has certain fears they can't overcome. Come on." Again, he began guiding me with a hand on my shoulder. "Let me take you to the waiting area, and then I'll come back and-"

"Emmett, can you please do me a favor?"

"Sure, Bella," he said quietly.

OOOOO

"You ready?" he asked after a couple of minutes.

"Yes."

I stood just outside of Edward's closed, private room. Through my phone screen, I watched Emmett, in scrubs now, approach the foot of Edward's bed. A quiet whimper escaped me when I finally caught sight of Edward.

He was asleep…or rather, unconscious. Alarmingly flushed and deathly still, hooked up to an IV and other machinery. He looked so young…so weak, and my tears fell on the screen.

Carlisle, Alice, and Esme surrounded his bed in various states of action. Esme sat quietly next to him, holding his limp hand. Alice stood behind her, expression blank, while Carlisle moved around, reading his chart, taking his vitals. All three turned around and gave Emmett an empty look when he approached with his phone in hand.

"All right, Bella, go ahead."

"Edward?" I said quietly. "It's me, Bella."

Edward didn't stir.

Esme smiled. "He comes in and out of it. Keep talking, Bella," she encouraged. Carlisle and Alice said nothing.

"Edward," I said soothingly. "Edward, I'm here."

He shifted, moaned slightly but otherwise made no response.

"His fever is still high, Bella," Esme said.

"Edward, it's really me. I'm here. I mean, I'm not in there, and I wish I could be. I swear I do."

Alice snorted.

"Edward, listen to me. I've got something important to tell you. I wish I could tell you in person, but…" I swallowed back the painful lump in my throat. "You and I, we made a promise to one another a few weeks ago. We said we wouldn't keep things from one another anymore, not even if that meant discussing them through something as impersonal as a phone or a laptop."

I waited for some sort of reaction from him, but other than his way-too-rapid breathing, there was none.

"Keeping things from one another has caused us so much grief. But we've been sharing, haven't we? We've been apart for a few weeks, yet even through something as simple as a phone call, I get to share my days with you, my thoughts, all my realizations."

Again, I waited, while Emmett remained at the foot of the hospital bed, with his phone trained on Edward.

"Here's another realization, Edward," I smiled. "This one literally hit me just a few moments ago. Ready?"

No answer.

"Edward, I've realized I don't care that your mom made a choice I'll never understand."

Esme looked up, startled, but then simply sighed and returned her attention to Edward.

"I don't care that your dad made a choice I'll understand even less."

Carlisle ignored me and continued checking Edward's vitals.

"And I don't care that Jasper will always be your nephew's father or that your sister has issues."

Alice looked up and scowled but said nothing.

"I don't care about any of it. In fact, I'll embrace them all as part of our dysfunctional family, maybe a bit more dysfunctional than most, but…whatever."

Emmett snickered.

"And I can be around them or not be around them. It doesn't matter. I've realized how little all of it matters in the grand scheme of things because…are you ready for this? It's an analogy."

Edward's erratic breathing continued.

"In the grand scheme of things, you and I are Chaos. That Day was _our_ Chaos – our huge, random yet universe-altering event. But then, within our Chaos, a butterfly, no less important for its diminutiveness in the grand scheme, flapped its wings, and its effect will be life-changing. A beautiful, perfect stone has been dropped in our pond, and it's going to ripple far and wide."

Underneath a thin cover, Edward's chest rose and fell, rose and fell.

"They're shitty analogies, I know." I shook my head and swallowed. "I should've chosen something much simpler than the Theory of Chaos to compare-"

"Chaos…butterfly…"

Edward whispered, and the world stopped.

"Bella…you're pregnant."

Barely breaths. Almost inaudible.

But the crazy…the inexplicable…the wonderful thing was, Edward Cullen…Alice's brother...had always possessed an uncanny ability to get me.

After the moment of stunned stupor which ensued, Edward's mom may have shrieked wildly and leaned over to cradle and kiss her son's flushed face.

Carlisle may have dropped some instruments or other before reaching for Edward's leg…and squeezing it.

"No fucking…no fucking way," Alice may have exhaled, snorted, fisted her long, golden hair, and shook her head.

Emmett may have laughed hard as he roughly patted Edward's shoulder, his booming voice echoing all around the hospital.

There may have been some other words spoken; some other actions performed; I don't exactly recall. You'll have to ask the official transcriber – or should I say, the one who always laughs just as hard as he did that day when he retells the story. I don't know.

I don't know because all the while, my gaze, my entire focus was on Edward and on the way he breathed deeply, his chest rising and falling evenly, eyes still shut…yet smiling.

"Yes, Edward," I smiled in return, brushing away the tears of pure, unadulterated joy and relief that fell on the phone screen. "Yes, baby. I'm pregnant."

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **I haven't named any of these chapters, but I gave in and named this one. 3**

 **Facebook (for pics, teasers, discussions, etc.): Stories by PattyRose**

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 **Almost, almost done. :)**

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	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Thank you all so much for the wonderful thoughts you've all shared with me throughout this story. We're almost done.**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. So do all mistakes.**

* * *

 **Break – Chapter 20**

For the rest of that first day in the hospital, Edward's eyes opened and shut…opened and shut but no longer with any recognition. However, his fever slowly decreased, though it didn't completely break. For a while, I remained in the hospital but hung out in the lounge with Emmett, then with Esme when Emmett was called away. I returned calls to my dad, Rose, Mack, and Jessica. When Emmett returned with sandwiches, coffee, and water, he also brought Carlisle with him and the results of Edward's bloodwork.

I spent the rest of the night in Edward's room. Again, Esme remained with me for a bit. Carlisle wandered in every couple of hours to scan Edward's chart and to check Edward's vitals himself. Emmett did the same. I hadn't seen Alice since my Facetime call with Edward ended. No one offered an update on her whereabouts, and I didn't care enough to ask.

Eventually, Carlisle had a narrow yet comfortable, fold-up couch brought into Edward's room. The nurses gave me plenty of warm, clean blankets with which to line the cushions as well as cover myself. They also brought me a freshly laundered, plush terry robe, and a pretty shopping bag with the hospital's name printed on it, which contained all sorts of toiletries necessary for an overnight, including earplugs and a sleeping mask. If it wasn't for the fact that we were in a hospital, and that Edward was laid up, unconscious, the entire event would've resembled an adult slumber party.

Then, with a surprisingly warm hug, a promise extracted from me to rest as much as possible considering, and a promise in return that she'd be back in the morning, Esme left. Emmett soon followed with similar advice and promises, and then Carlisle. With the couch situated next to Edward's hospital bed, I was able to sit comfortably by his side and carry on a quiet, one-sided conversation, holding his hand, kissing his still hot forehead. When exhaustion finally won, I lay down, covered myself, and slept the sleep of the dead, not even bothered by the nurses' periodic overnight check-ups.

Instead, I awoke to sunlight peaking in through the shuttered blinds and bile rising quickly to my throat. In a flash, I pulled off the sleeping mask, jumped off the small couch, and ran to the bathroom, where I expelled last evening's sandwich and coffee into the toilet.

"So, this is morning sickness, huh?" I muttered to myself as I hugged the toilet rim.

Then, I took a shower. After donning my robe and brushing my teeth with the implements provided in my toiletries bag, I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror – blotched skin, bloodshot eyes, and tangled hair.

"So, the morning sickness thing seems pretty accurate, but the fabled glow…not so much."

I snorted and looked down at my flat stomach, laying a palm over it as I smiled. "It's okay, Peanut. Go ahead and make Mommy look and feel like shit. You're worth it."

When I walked back into Edward's room, his eyes were open and on me.

"Edward."

I rushed toward him and cradled his face between my hands, brushing my lips against his slightly cooler forehead. When I pulled back and laid my palm on it, meeting his gaze, Edward looked back at me through tired but lucid eyes.

"Your fever's gone down some more, and you're awake," I said, grinning widely in unadulterated relief.

"What are you doing here, Bella?" he asked roughly and hoarsely

"Where else would I be?" I smiled.

"In Miami," he hissed, his voice thick and gravelly, "on your book tour. Anywhere but here."

I frowned. "Edward, you got sick."

"I know I got sick, Bella. I remember. But why are you _here_?" His nostrils flared. "If _you_ get sick-" When his voice broke, any momentary alarm I may have felt at his less than enthusiastic greeting instantly disappeared.

"Shh," I said, cradling his face and kissing his forehead yet again. When he struggled against me and pulled away, I released him without issue.

"Bella, stop," he snapped. "You need to leave this room, this hospital, right now."

Taking a seat at the edge of his bed, I sighed and waited for him to meet my gaze.

"You know, a wonderfully-selfless epidemiologist gave me his booster vaccine a few weeks ago, then waited too long to receive his own, and now there's a shortage. That was massively irresponsible of him because he of all people should've known better."

"It was irresponsible, and I should've fucking known better, yes," he spat angrily, "and now you and…and your tour…"

"My tour can wait." I shrugged. "Over the past couple of years, I've made good friends and great connections including an agent who, while ditzy, also happens to be amazing at what she does. She's coordinated with the publishers, rescheduled my missed appearances for after the holidays, and kept us on track for the same release date."

Despite my assurances, Edward shook his head throughout my entire speech. By the time I finished, his alarm only appeared slightly diminished.

"I could've ruined everything for you, Bella. You shouldn't have come."

"Stop," I ordered firmly. "Nothing is ruined, and of course I came. And from now on, I'm going to make sure you take care of yourself as well as you take care of others." I crossed my arms against my chest. "You know, I'm really angry at you."

"You should be." He took me in through anxious eyes, chest rising and falling in long, heavy breaths. "Bella…" his voice quivered, "I guess I was…hallucinating. I had a dream. I thought…I thought…"

Slowly, I reached for his hand, knit our fingers together, and brought them entwined to rest under my robe and against my stomach. Edward squeezed his eyes shut and pushed his head against his pillow again, Adam's apple bobbing wildly.

"It wasn't a dream," he whispered.

"No. It wasn't a dream."

For a long while, Edward's eyes remained shut. He said nothing.

"If you or…our baby gets sick…"

I chuckled quietly, relieved because once again, I'd misinterpreted his silence.

"Edward, you're tired and still a bit disoriented, so I'll repeat to you what man-bun-wearing microbiologist and your fellow virus expert Emmett, as well as world-renowned surgeon Carlisle, assured me when they told me that you'd indeed caught that flu strain: _I'm_ inoculated against it. Therefore, so is our baby. Peanut is floating safe and sound inside me," I said, while a silent tear skimmed Edward's cheek, "because you, Edward Cullen, made sure that I wouldn't get sick. You protected our family without even knowing you were doing so." Instinctively, I leaned in and brushed away his tear with my lips. "Thank you, my love."

"I love you so goddamned much," Edward said, reopening his eyes. "How is it possible for you to make me this happy while I'm splayed out and useless in a hospital?"

I chuckled. "I've asked myself the same question all night. How am I so happy right now when he's splayed out in a hospital? Maybe it's because Emmett and your dad both assure me you'll be just fine, and I trust one of them implicitly, while the other…well, I'm starting to trust him regarding certain things, at least."

Edward chuckled softly in return.

"You see, Edward, since that pregnancy test came back positive, I'm seeing how all those mountains we feared insurmountable are nothing more than tiresome hills, and some…aren't even that. Some are tiny bumps in the road." Edward's warm thumb brushed my stomach over and over. I rested my forehead on his. "You and I, and this life our love has somehow created," I chuckled, still in shock, "that's what matters. Do you remember what else I said?" I asked.

Edward nodded. "You said you don't care that I have a nut-job for a sister."

"I don't," I chuckled in confirmation.

"Even if she once caused you a massive amount of pain?"

"We'll never tell her this," I whispered conspiratorially, "but had she never done what she did, you and I would've never ended up together."

When I pulled away enough to meet his gaze, Edward scrutinized me carefully. "I suppose," he finally said, smiling, "that's one way to look at it. And it doesn't mean you have to forgive her…"

"Oh, I know that," I snorted, thinking of the backhand I gave her the night before. "But, what she and Jasper did wasn't an insurmountable mountain. It was a hill I had to scale, and on the other side…were you and this baby." When I pressed his hand against my stomach, Edward hissed.

"It doesn't hurt?"

"No." I chuckled heartily now and kissed his lips. "I've got a baby in there, not an ulcer."

"Stop," he said, turning away from my mouth.

I huffed as I pulled back. "You know, I'm beginning to think you're not happy about having me here."

"I love you, but no, I don't want you here," he confirmed. "Bella, I know, in my head, that you and our baby are inoculated and safe, but…" he shook his head and raked his free hand through his wild head of hair, "all I can think about now are all the fucking germs and viruses swirling around you. I can practically see them." He shuddered.

"These next few months are going to be fun with you," I teased.

He didn't even attempt to contradict my obvious sarcasm. "I'm going to be fine, and I'll be out of here in a day or two. Go home, and by home, I mean back to the apartment you share with Mack. I've got to have the loft sterilized before you move in."

"I'm moving in?" I said, quirking an eyebrow.

"Aren't you?" His brow furrowed. Again, he raked that hand through his hair. "I mean, I assumed…but if you're not ready-"

I kissed him quickly again, laughing when he groaned and gently pushed me away.

"You don't have to twist my arm to convince me to move into that gorgeous loft-"

Edward smirked. "Ah, so it's the loft that's convinced you?"

"-but give me time, okay?" I said. "Let me finish this tour and give Mack enough time to find just the right roommate. She's very particular about who she lives with."

Edward swallowed and exhaled. "The tour. I know I'm going to sound like an asshole here, but now I'm going to be so damn nervous about the rest of that tour."

I gave him a withering look and shook my head reprovingly.

Again, he sighed. "Just promise me you'll be careful and you'll take care of the both of you; eat well, rest, vitamins, exercise-"

"So, in other words, not what _you_ were doing here while I was gone." When I lifted my eyebrows meaningfully, Edward offered me a contrite smile. "Edward, Emmett told me you've been pushing yourself way too hard for the past few months…for the past few years."

Edward pursed his lips and waved it away. "Emmett's full of sh-"

"He's not," I said firmly. "He's not."

"I'll take care of myself properly too. Haven't you heard the news?" Edward's ensuing grin was infused with so much joy, for a moment, he barely even looked sick. "Come here," he said, taking both my hands. "Climb that bed."

"What do you have in mind?" I chuckled mischievously.

"Not what you do, obviously," he smirked, "at least, not now," he said as he helped me up, and I shrieked and laughed.

"Edward, if those nurses come in and find me here like this...they were already pissed off that I didn't leave you to them all night."

He rolled his eyes. When he finally had me on the bed, he guided me to kneel in front of him. Then, eyes on mine, he opened my robe and leaned in slowly. When his warm lips brushed my stomach, I choked on a sob, stroking his soft hair back and forth.

"Thank you," he breathed, "for giving me a second chance, and for making dreams I never even knew I had come true."

I leaned down and kissed his chest. "Likewise, my love. Now, do like that ink there says, and get strong and healthy again – for the three of us."

OOOOO

 **Seven-and-a-half months later:**

It was late July, typically the hottest month of the year in the Northeast. The sun was high in the sky and complying quite well with its reputation for the time of year. It was fucking hot. Yet, for some reason I'd never understand, my child's godmother, grandmother, and dad had thought it a good idea to hold my surprise baby shower outdoors – in July.

Oh, we were underneath a gorgeous and large flowering trellis attached to one of Central Park's trendy cafés. Esme and Rose had decorated beautifully in soft browns, pale greens and bright yellows that melded gorgeously with the park's natural surroundings. Portable air conditioners and fans were spread around the party area to ensure all guests were comfortable – all guests that is, except a nine-month pregnant woman.

Nonetheless, despite the sweltering heat, I smiled at every guest, grinned through every party game, all while Edward and I received all manner of well-wishes for the gift we were on the brink of receiving.

I thought back to that day at the walk-in clinic, with pink-haired and way-too-young-to-be-a-doctor-looking Doctor Gerandy.

" _But…can we be sure, Doctor?"_

" _Miss Swan- Bella," she said with no-little exasperation, "may I call you, Bella?"_

" _Call me whatever you'd like, but are we sure, Doctor Gerandy?"_

" _Bella, you've peed on five different sticks. I'd say we're sure."_

" _But…but it doesn't make sense, Doctor. My ex-husband and I tried to get pregnant for three years. We tried everything."_

" _Bella…" Doctor Gerandy said, smiling softly, "believe it or not, this sort of thing happens more often than you might think. The fact that he's your ex-husband leads me to think there were issues in the marriage," she added carefully._

" _Oh, he was a cheating bastard."_

" _Ooh," Doctor Gerandy hissed. Then, she chuckled. "And you admitted you were stressed while trying to get pregnant."_

" _I was in the middle of an undiagnosed, clinical depression."_

 _She offered me a sympathetic smile. "Bella, our bodies are amazing machines which we sometimes give less credit than they deserve for knowing when it's ready or not ready for certain things."_

" _But how would it know-"_

" _Think of it as a flower in the middle of a cold winter. That flower shuts down, its petals shrink in on itself to protect the flower from the harsh elements bombarding it. When summer finally arrives, that flower blooms and opens wide, ready to receive pollination."_

" _Doctor, you couldn't have explained it any better had you known me for years," I chuckled._

 _She chuckled in return. "I tend to like analogies and metaphors. Anyway, your boyfriend likely possesses some really great, fucking swimmers too. That couldn't have hurt."_

I chuckled at the memory.

"What are you laughing about?" Edward asked. Sitting next to me, he took my hand and kissed my knuckles, offering me a curious smile.

"Remind me of something because I've had very little other than baby on the brain for the past few months. Did we send that crate of signed copies of _Gemma_ to Doctor Gerandy in Miami?"

"Months ago; before we left for the European part of your book tour, not long after the book was released."

"Good."

Edward chuckled heartily, gently stroking my baby bump…our baby. "I wouldn't forget Doctor Gerandy, especially not after your book hit number one on the New York Times Bestseller List the week it was released. She was probably in heaven while she distributed those to all her thirty buddies. And I wouldn't forget her after she said I had some really great fucking swimmers."

I rolled my eyes. "I should've never told you about that part of our conversation."

"Yeah well, even if you hadn't told me, the proof is right here, baby."

"You're an ass sometimes," I said.

Edward laughed and laughed.

"What's my son doing to you, Bella?"

Esme walked over to us and kissed us both on the forehead. Edward stood and offered his mom his seat.

"Nothing," I smirked at Edward, whose chuckles continued. "He's forgiven – for now."

"What are we forgiving Edward for now?" Rose asked teasingly, walking over with Vera and with Baby Beck – who turned out to be a girl when she was born six months ago – in her arms.

Edward quickly took Beck from Rose. He loved practicing his daddy-to-be skills on my goddaughter.

"Nothing too bad – this time," I said, raising a brow at him and making him chuckle sheepishly now. "He's just bragging about his strong-ass swimmers once again."

"Oh, brother."

"Come on, Yeti. Vera and I managed it well with only minimal male assistance."

"Edward, honey, don't be such a man."

All three women complained simultaneously while Edward bounced Beck around in his arms and chuckled yet again, no apology in his expression even as he apologized.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but I can't help it if I'm proud of my accomplishments."

"What? What is it?" Mack asked, approaching us hand in hand with Emmett, her live-in boyfriend – who despite wearing a man-bun, happened to be a neat freak. "What's Edward apologizing for now?"

"What's going on? What are we missing?" Emmett asked.

"Yeti is talking up his Yeti sperm yet again," Vera said.

Emmett laughed so hard his man-bun became skewed. "Yeti yet again. Anyway, Bella, it's your own fault. You should've never told him about that if you didn't want him talking it up for the rest of his life. We're men. We eat up shit like that."

Mack turned her beautiful, caramel face up toward Emmett. "Really? When you get me pregnant, you're going to go around bragging about your sperm for the rest of our lives?"

"No, no," Emmett backtracked quickly. But then he snorted. "Mack, baby, it's different. This baby these two are having…my godchild," he grinned proudly.

"My godchild too," Rose called out.

"I know, I know, Rosie," Emmett said. "Anyway, it's like he or she was created by magic sperm."

I offered Emmett a slow clap. "Ladies and gentleman, I give you Emmett McCarty, microbiologist, talking about magic sperm. Should we expect a unicorn along soon, too?"

"Emmett, you're not helping my case," Edward said, "at all."

We all laughed – except for Mack, who glared at Emmett until he pulled her into his arms and wrapped her up in a bear hug.

"You know I'm just kidding, babe. Hey, did I ever tell you all the story of when Bella announced she was pregnant?"

Now, we all groaned.

"Only about a thousand times and the baby hasn't even been born yet," I said.

We were all still laughing when Carlisle called out Edward's name from a few yards away. He'd been at the party with us, but he'd excused himself discreetly about fifteen minutes earlier, taking my dad with him. Now, he and Charlie stood just at the door leading into the restaurant.

"Give me my goddaughter," I said.

"I'll be right back. Let me see what they want," Edward said, kissing me quickly before he walked off.

When five minutes turned to ten, and Edward, his dad, and mine still hadn't returned from the restaurant, I returned my sweet Beck to her mom, excused myself from the party, and went searching for my baby daddy slash love of my life.

I found him, Carlisle, Charlie…and a small, little boy right outside the men's restrooms.

Edward was holding the little boy in his arms while the boy sobbed hard, and Edward whispered quietly between Carlisle and Charlie.

"She doesn't freaking change, and I don't want to upset Bella because she can't-" He cut himself off and shook his head sharply. "It's our baby shower, and she's nine months pregnant, for God's sake."

"I know son, and I apologize, but Al just dropped him off and-"

"Ed, maybe Bella won't-"

"What's going on?" I asked.

All three men spun around, startled. The boy in Edward's arms…Jasper Junior…Alice and Jasper's two-and-a-half-year-old son, whom I'd never met, looked at me too; big, blue eyes, just like his father's, startled as well, so much so he stopped crying.

"Why, hello." I smiled and instinctively rubbed my protruding stomach. "You must be JJ."

He nodded slowly, warily, little chest rising and falling unevenly while a series of sighs racked his tiny frame. Edward stroked his blond wisps of hair comfortingly.

"I'm Bella," I said, introducing myself.

"Bells, honey…" Dad said.

"Bella…" Edward breathed, his tone thick with apology.

"Shh," I said softly. "It's okay. It's fine."

And…it was.

This boy, this two-and-a-half-year-old reminder of one of the hardest days of my life, this tiny child whom I'd once dreaded meeting more than I dreaded anyone in the entire universe…more than I dreaded his father, more than I dreaded his mother…

Was just a little boy – a little boy who was obviously more frightened of me than I could ever be of him. His pouty bottom lip quivered. Again, he appeared close to tears.

"What's wrong, baby?" I said, stroking his hair.

"Mommy went bye-bye," he said, opening and closing his minuscule fist in illustration. "She said 'go with Gwampa and Uncoe Edwad. I need a bwake.'"

I tried not to cry while Carlisle leaned into my ear. "She had a fight with Jasper again, and texted me and dropped him off without warning. I'm so sorry, Bella. I'd never-"

"Well, guess what, JJ?" I said, smiling calmly. "We're having a party just outside." I gestured behind me with my thumb. "And we have cake and balloons, and it's a beautiful, sunny day, and there are more kids out there, and soon, I'm going to open presents."

He stared at me through big, blue eyes. "Buhthday pwesents?"

"Something like that, yes."

He paused pensively. "Can I heh-oop open pwesents?"

"Of course you can help open presents." I patted my stomach. "This is your little cousin in here, so it's sort of your job to help him or her out, if you don't mind."

Here, little JJ grinned widely, clapping his hands.

I chuckled. "Are you ready?"

He nodded eagerly, bouncing excitedly now in Edward's arms. "Let's go, Uncoe Edwad! Let's go!"

Edward looked at me and swallowed thickly. "I love you so much," he mouthed.

I chuckled again. "Come on, guys. Let's go."

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **One more chapter and we're done (I think). ;)**

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" **See" you soon.**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts. I've truly, truly enjoyed them throughout this story. There were some rough patches, but I honestly believe it's the hard times that make the sweet times that much better. My writing tends to convey that belief.**

 **Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine as well.**

 **This is complete. :)**

 **Break - Epilogue**

* * *

 **Two years later:**

It was a bustling, late May, mid-afternoon in Tribeca when I once again found myself gazing distractedly through a café's large windows. Kept sparkling clean, and clear, the windows were so translucent they were almost nonexistent, easily deceiving those separated by them into forgetting the windows were even there.

Through these expansive, crystalline windows filtered in the late spring sun. Bright rays diffused its warmth onto the café's patrons, they themselves oblivious of the sun's gauzy fingers while they enjoyed their craft beverages and conversation with friends. Others sat alone, coffee ignored, laptops open before them, yet their gazes resting emptily on windows.

That same sun shone its light simultaneously onto the world outside. It made the stone-cobbled streets sparkle like opals as men, women, boys, and girls sprinted up and down the block with rays on their chests and backs. It highlighted the centuries-old downtown architecture side by side with modern-day vintage boutiques, art galleries such as the one Mack owned a few blocks away, and in the distance, shimmering, steel bridges.

Yes; windows still distracted me. Like Edward's vaccines, the windows inoculated those within from the world outside – a world full of assholes and idiots…

But mostly, a world full of wonderful possibilities; a world full of people who fell somewhere in between, and who were simply trying to live their best lives. There was a time when my windows went dark, when I couldn't see through them onto those possibilities outside; into the middle of the spectrum. There was a time when I thought I fell at the end of that spectrum, and therefore, my story…was over.

 _ **Breathe, darling. This is just a chapter, not your whole story.'**_

 _ **'A scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, "I survived."'**_

But then…the page turned onto the next chapter; the scar scabbed over, and-

"What are you looking at, and what are you mouthing to yourself while biting that finger?"

Someone took the seat next to me and pulled my thumbnail out of my mouth. When I tore my gaze away from the window, my eyes led me to a set of beautifully clear green eyes, just like those windows to the world. They were, in fact, my second favorite set of translucently emerald eyes in the world.

"Stranger, you really are a nosey one, and I hope you know you interrupt me at your own risk."

"Oh, I know that," he chuckled, sliding my coffee mug toward me across the table. "But if the past is truly prologue, then I'd bet the risk will pay off."

I quirked an eyebrow, studying his handsome face: that angular jaw on which he grew just the right amount of stubble, those almost hypnotizing eyes…and that perfectly imperfect nose which I leaned toward, gently brushing my lips against the slight bump on the bridge.

"You're a risk taker. Maybe that's why you ended up with that."

Edward shook his head and chuckled under his breath. "As I've said before, it was totally worth it." He reached a hand across the table and knit together our fingers, bestowing a series of soft kisses on my knuckles before studying my thumb, eyes narrowing into slits.

"I thought you loved watching me bite my fingers, or was all that just a line?" I teased.

His eyes flashed upward to mine, and he smirked before returning to his examination of my finger.

"I love watching you bite the _skin_ under your nailbeds," he clarified, "because I know it means that at that moment, you're overflowing with passion and inspiration," – again his eyes met mine, warmer now – "and it's one of the most awe-inspiring sights to witness."

When Edward and I first met – or re-met – over four years earlier at a coffee shop much like this one, he'd only allowed himself a hint of all the awe, admiration…and love which he now displayed daily and openly. Yet, even that hint had been enough to awaken those dormant feelings I'd subconsciously developed for him on the day I'd once believed the worst day of my life.

Nowadays, I remembered That Day as a tough day, undeniably; but even more so, I looked back on That Day as the day on which I began to claim my life.

"But it also makes me fucking nervous because you're just begging for an infection every time you bite those nailbeds."

I chuckled heartily. "My nerdy germaphobe."

With a long-suffering sigh, which just made me chuckle all the more, Edward again brushed his lips to my knuckles and set our hands down.

"Keep that away from dirty surfaces."

I snorted.

"Here's the thing, though," Edward continued, preparing his latte and making perfectly-shaped, frothy hearts with his milk, which made me laugh, "you weren't biting your nailbeds right now. You were biting your nail."

I drew in a deep breath. For a handful of seconds, my thoughts swirled around a quote which Edward, the kids, and I found as we strolled through a rubbish sale in Chicago during a book tour last year.

 _The quote had been framed in a huge, oval, faded and chipped wood frame which was buried among a pile of questionable pieces labeled 'Artwork:'_

' _ **When a mountain appears insurmountable, grab a trusted friend or two and scale that mother. Because the higher the mountain, the prettier the meadow on the other side.'**_

" _It's like my life summed up in two sentences."_

 _Edward handed me the baby so that he could carry the frame._

" _You want to hang this up at home?" he'd asked with obvious wariness._

" _I'll bet Mack can restore it to perfection. Besides, you have a wall hanging of a pair of rams. I can hang a quote."_

 _He'd chuckled ruefully. "I just mean because the frame is such a piece of…" He scratched his head. "And what about the priceless treasures we've got on display now, pictures of you and the baby and…?"_

 _He'd trailed off while I'd paid._

" _Mommy doesn't know how to haggle," he'd said, kissing the baby's soft, wispy copper locks. Then, he'd crouched in front of Jay. "Jay, when you grow up, don't forget you're supposed to talk the price down at these places."_

 _Jay had looked up at Edward with all that respect and love bordering on worship a three-year-old openly displays._

" _Okay, Uncle Edward."_

" _It's an important life lesson, which Uncle Edward has imparted there," I'd smirked before crouching down as well. "But here's another one, Jay. When you grow up, don't be afraid to climb the mountains because on the other side is where you'll find the best treasures."_

" _Treasures?" Jay had wondered._

" _Yes. Like you, Uncle Edward, and your baby cousin. The three of you are my biggest treasures, and you were all on the other side of a biiig mountain," I stressed, stretching my free hand and all five fingers up above my head._

 _Jay and the baby both threw back their heads and followed the trajectory of my arm. The baby stared silently, sweet emerald gaze easily distracted – much like Mommy – and sweeping further upward to blue skies and a circling of birds above our heads._

 _Jay's gaze, however, remained on the outstretched length of my arm._

" _Wow," he breathed._

 _For a second, he'd looked so much how I remembered his father looking when we were just kids, full of naïvely childish beliefs. It was an immaturity his father never outgrew. But Jay was only three, and as much as it was in our power to do so, Edward and I would protect that childish immaturity while laying the foundation for a real man to one day take hold._

 _When a tiny crease appeared between his tender brows as if he was giving the situation all the logistical considerations it rightly deserved, Jay looked more like his maternal uncle._

" _But…will you and Uncle Edward help me climb if I can't climb by myself?" Jay asked, big blue eyes wide and innocent._

" _Of course, we will," Edward said simply; straightforwardly._

 _From the very beginning of his young life, Jay had spent a considerable amount of time with his grandparents…and with Edward, when he was home from his work trips. From the moment Jay and I finally met, he spent increasing time with me. It was a situation which forced us to swallow much of our pride when having to deal with his mother, such as when Edward requested Jay be allowed to go to Chicago with us._

 _Yes; I'd learned a child did make everything worth it._

 _I'd kissed Jay's sweet, gauzy cheek. "Uncle Edward and I will always be there to help you."_

" _Okay, Aunt Bella," he'd agreed with an easy shrug. "I'll climb the mountains."_

OOOOO

"What are you thinking?" Edward asked, breaking me out of my musings and returning me to the present.

"I'm thinking…I'm thinking you and I spend a lot of time in coffee shops."

He nodded pensively, rubbing his angular jaw with the back of his hand. "It's where you and I really began, and where we do a lot of our database management, such as this afternoon. But we spend time in other places too – traveling together, you with your writing and me with work. We spend time with friends and family, with our kids above all, and-"

"And in bed," I grinned.

He offered me a salacious grin in return. "That's definitely one of my favorites."

"I'm nervous," I admitted.

"I know."

Edward held my gaze, green eyes as clouded by anxiety this afternoon as I felt. Over the years, I'd gotten him to ease up somewhat on his need to protect the world, but protection was a facet deeply ingrained in his personality. As a little boy, he'd seen something a little boy should never see. As a grown man, he would shield his family any way he could.

It was that knowledge, that those things we accidentally see or hear in our childhood are the ones which most influence our formative years, that had us both so stressed that afternoon.

Edward leaned across the table and brushed his mouth to mine. "Love you."

"Me too."

As he pulled back, framed by the golden rays streaming in through the windows, Edward looked so young, it took me back to those first days between us when he'd stroll into the coffee shop all windblown and sweaty from his morning run. He'd always taken care of himself, and it showed. No one ever believed Edward was approaching his late thirties. He was healthy, strong…and so very handsome.

"I have a hot boyfriend."

He jerked back, startled, and snorted. "Your _boyfriend_ ," he echoed with no little derision.

"Isn't that what you are?" I teased.

He shifted sideways in his seat, resting his long arm over the table. "I'm kind of old to be called a 'boyfriend,' don't you think?"

"Brady was forty-one when we dated, and he didn't mind being called my boyfriend."

"You did not just go there," he said, while I tried hard not to laugh.

"Edward, you're not still jealous of him, are you?"

He pursed his lips.

"Babe, Brady's been married for a year, and the last time we saw him at Emmett and Mack's engagement party, he looked madly in love with his sweet wife. I'm happy for him. He moved on, unlike what's her name, Katie was it?"

"Kate, not Katie."

"I could've sworn I heard you call her 'Katie.'"

"You never heard me call her Katie," he chuckled, cheeks turning scarlet.

"Okay, maybe not, but she definitely called you _Eddie_. 'Oh, Eddie, you look so good,'" I said, batting my eyelashes and raising my voice a few sharp octaves to imitate Edward's last girlfriend, whom he'd broken up with a few days before That Day. She was a tall blond with a nasal voice whom we'd bumped into once when I was about seven months pregnant and swollen from head to foot.

Edward held my gaze blandly. "You can call me "Eddie' too if you'd like."

"May I? 'Oh, Eddie, what a shame you got married," I shrieked, now furiously mimicking. "'Wait a minute, you're _not_ married? Well, that's just wonderful! I may still have a chance!'"

Edward grinned throughout my entire performance. "You just made up that whole conversation. She never said any of that."

"It was implied in the looks she gave you."

When he laughed and reached his long arms across the table to try to pull me toward him, I pretended to shake him off.

Edward chuckled. "Why are you mad at me when you just made up an entire scenario? Especially considering she was in awe of you and asked you for an autograph," he leaned in conspiratorially, "which, by the way, I noticed you never gave her."

I chuckled impishly.

Edward snorted. "I, on the other hand, do have a reason to envy Brady."

"I don't know why. You and I have a perfect baby; you're thirty-seven years old – young, healthy and hot; you and Emmett run your own consulting business, we lead full lives together, vacation when we can, and-"

"His wife."

"Zafrina is an exotic beauty, yes. I'm woman enough to admit it," I shrugged.

"You know very well that's not what I mean. You, my _girlfriend_ ," he stressed, "are wildly imaginative and massively intelligent as evidenced by the fact that you're a world-famous author with two number one bestsellers under her belt, another one on the way-"

"We don't know that the second part to the trilogy will hit number one-"

"Bella, your readers are ready to give up their firstborns to get a copy on release day. They write fanfiction about it," he grinned. "What's more, the screenplay you're writing for the film adaptation to _Gemma_ is already generating Oscar buzz."

I shut my eyes and shook my head.

"And above all…you're the type of mom to our baby and partner to me I'd only ever dreamed of. My point is, Bella, you're all manner and sort of amazing in ways I couldn't even imagine when I thought I was imagining how amazing you were. And God you're gorgeous to boot," he breathed with all that awe and adoration on full display. "So, no, I don't envy Brady his wife, _per se_."

I reopened my eyes and smiled softly. "Edward, you know that every day, when I wake up next to you, I'm amazed that I get to have you as the father of my child, as my lover, and as my very best friend and partner for the rest of my life? You know that, right?"

"I do happen to know that," he nodded, grinning smugly. Then, he sighed. "It's why I put up with the _boyfriend_ title."

I chuckled quietly. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For distracting me."

Edward swallowed. "You've been on edge since we set up this meeting. I _hate_ seeing you this anxious, especially due to them. If they act like assholes, Bella-"

"Then we'll deal with them together."

He sighed. "Speaking of which, where are they? They're late."

Edward glared at the windows, and as if their mention had conjured them up, one of the two individuals we awaited that afternoon calmly crossed the street and headed toward the café.

"Where the hell is the other one?" Edward hissed.

I sighed inaudibly, while Edward's sister opened the door to the café and made inquiries at the hostess stand. Reaching across the table, I squeezed Edward's hand.

"Easy, okay? For Jay's sake."

"If those two had another fight," Edward whispered under his breath, "she's going to be an even bigger-"

"Shh," I cut him off sharply before he stood and pulled out Alice's chair.

"Alice," he said.

Hey," she said curtly in return.

"Hey," I echoed.

Edward waited until the three of us were seated. When he spoke, the inquiry was delivered calmly, though I knew fire brimmed just under the surface.

"Where's Jasper?"

Alice shrugged. "Who knows?" she replied, studying the coffee menu. "So, what do you suggest here?"

Edward and I looked at her, at one another, and back at her.

I cleared my throat, "Edward and I wanted to speak with both of you."

Alice kept her eyes on her coffee list. She ran a well-manicured finger down the offerings, attempting no reply. It had been a while – since the day I backhanded her when Edward was in the hospital – that I'd been this close to Alice. Yes, we'd been around one another a couple of times, but not this close, not even after the last incident, which made our situation today all the more precarious.

Her hair, as usual, was professionally-styled in long, cascading, blond waves. Her makeup was flawless, expertly applied. But…this close, her ends needed trimming. And her makeup didn't do much to conceal the crow's feet at the outer corners of her eyes or the lines on her forehead and around her mouth. In those five seconds, before we got into the thick of things, I thought back to that evening, about a year and a half earlier, which likely exacerbated her hatred of me.

 _It was Edward's parents' fortieth anniversary, and one of the few instances in which Edward and I, and Alice and Jasper, had been forced into the same space. Edward had been on edge for the weeks leading up to the party, during which he vacillated over whether we would attend or not._

 _By then, I'd already dealt with Jasper and Alice – Jasper in Forks and Alice at the hospital when Edward caught that nasty strain. I'd realized how little they mattered in our grand scheme. I didn't particularly enjoy the prospect of being around them, but I was a mom, a writer, and I had a partner whom I loved and respected and who loved and respected me in return. Alice and Jasper were the least of my concerns. What's more, it was an opportunity to spend time with Jay, as I'd begun calling him, since Esme wanted her grandchildren present._

 _The party was in Edward's parents' home, a gorgeous bi-level on the Upper East Side. The evening started out enjoyable. With the baby barely six months old, it was our first big family celebration since the birth, especially considering the dad was a germaphobe who hadn't wanted too many germy people around his child for the first few months of life._

 _Now, almost everyone gushed over the baby and seemed genuinely thrilled to see us. The baby traveled from arm to arm with only minimal, undisguised apprehension from Edward. All the while, Jay proudly followed his baby cousin around, wanting to protect and to play. Esme and Carlisle were proud grandparents, and privately, Esme whispered to me about how great I looked despite having given birth less than six months earlier._

 _And boy, did Edward and I dance. We mingled with surprisingly pleasant members of the family and spent time with little Jay before Esme took him up to bed. Our close friends, who'd become acquainted with Edward's parents through our events, were also invited._

 _At one point later in the evening, Edward was off on the other side of the room, relaying the story of the baby's birth to some cousins who'd only heard the story a handful of times. Rose and I served ourselves shrimp cocktail and talked babies while bits and pieces of Edward's conversation reached us._

" _She was a damn trooper. I honestly don't know if I could've done it."_

" _Trust me, Yeti, you couldn't have," Rose said dryly as she bit off a shrimp tail._

 _I chuckled in agreement. "No way."_

" _Hey, is that her?"_

 _I looked up as Rose furtively jerked her jaw toward where Alice stood off with some family member, hissing together in a corner._

" _I'd actually forgotten she was here, but yes, that's her," I whispered._

 _Rose stared for a few moments._

" _Stop staring."_

" _I mean, I hate talking crap about other women. It's not empowering at all, and yes, she's pretty, but as someone who's attracted to women…" Rose shook her head. "He risked you for…? I don't see it. Plus, no way she's younger than you."_

" _She is," I hissed under my breath. "By five years."_

 _Rose dropped the shrimp she'd been about to bite back onto her cocktail plate. "Get the fuck out of here."_

" _Shh," I hissed again._

 _Vera approached._

" _I'm sorry, but she's not all that."_

" _Right?" Rose agreed with her wife. "That's what I was just saying."_

" _And that's coming from two lesbians, Bella."_

" _That's what I said."_

" _Will you two stop?"_

" _And get this, babe," Rose said to Vera. "She's five years younger than Bella."_

" _No, she's not."_

 _Rose snickered. "Right?"_

" _Where is cool, professional, and fervent feminist Doctor Rose tonight?" I inquired._

" _Doctor Rose is off duty, love," Rose grinned, "and since Beck is with Grandma and off the boob, Doctor Rose also has more than a couple of goblets of red wine under her belt."_

" _Mm, then maybe I should get Doctor Rose home right now," Vera said._

 _Both women giggled, and I chuckled. But then Vera continued._

" _See, I would've never thought she was younger, and, Bella, I'm not just saying that because you're our girl and because that one sleeps with other women's partners."_

 _More giggles._

" _I see why you two ended up together," I muttered._

 _Emmett and Mack approached._

" _I don't know what's going on here," Emmett said as he piled shrimp onto a large plate not meant for cocktails, "but that asshole over there's been eyeing you hard all night, Bella." He frowned darkly at Jasper._

 _I snorted quietly. "Funny, how he was once my husband, and I'd also forgotten he was here tonight."_

 _But Emmett was too distracted to acknowledge my comment. "Jesus Christ, he doesn't even try to hide it," he spat disgustedly._

" _Bee," Mack whispered, "Em and I wanted to give you a heads up."_

" _Heads up about what?"_

" _Edward's cousin, Jamie," Emmett said, "was telling us all an interesting story before. He said he was here at the house when Esme came home the day my godchild was born."_

" _My godchild too," Rose interrupted._

" _I know that, Rosie," Emmett said impatiently, rolling his eyes. "When_ _ **our**_ _godchild was born. Alice and Jasper happened to be over."_

" _Jamie says that Jasper went pale, and he looked like he might pass out," Mack said, taking over the gossip._

" _He had to excuse himself to the bathroom," Emmett said, "from where he didn't emerge for like a half hour."_

" _And when he did," Mack said, "he wanted to know all about the baby – weight, size, name, how you were doing, etc., 'til Alice got sick of it and dragged him home."_

" _Please you two, don't ever tell Edward that story," I begged._

" _That's the thing, Bee," Mack said quietly. "Jamie told the story to Emmett, me,_ _ **and**_ _Edward."_

" _Fuck."_

 _I looked over at Edward, who now had his cell phone out, showing off baby pictures and laughing loudly with his cousins. When he caught me looking, he shot me a wink and a smile._

" _Are you sure Edward_ _ **heard**_ _the story?" I frowned._

" _Yeah, we were right there," Emmett said. "There's more."_

" _More?"_

" _Jamie says when you and Edward walked in tonight, he was standing with Jasper, and Jasper's eyes almost popped out of their sockets, and he said, 'My God, she looks perfect,' before he realized that-"_

" _No…" I exhaled the breath from my lungs._

" _-Alice was standing at Jamie's other side."_

 _I shut my eyes, wishing we would've just stayed home. "Did Jamie tell Edward this story too?"_

" _Not in front of us, but…they're cousins, and I happen to know he's a lot closer to Edward than he is to Alice."_

 _For a long while afterward, I admittedly walked on eggshells, picturing some sort of replay of That Day. But when Edward returned to me, he appeared completely at ease. We hung around with our friends and danced some more. My breasts started aching while the baby's cries were heard on the monitor. By the time I excused myself to go nurse, I'd long since forgotten about the tale Mack and Emmett conveyed._

 _Edward met me upstairs a few minutes later, in his old bedroom, while our baby nursed peacefully. He shut the door carefully behind him and locked it before pulling up his old desk chair beside the baby and me._

" _Everything okay?" he whispered, stroking the baby's copper locks. It was something he did while I nursed, his way of joining in the bond._

" _Everything's fine," I smiled. "You get Runner's Highs from running. I get Nurser's Highs from nursing."_

" _I didn't know that was a thing," he chuckled quietly._

" _And you never will," I teased._

 _We carried on a light conversation, and when the baby finished nursing, he did the diaper changing while I readjusted my party dress. And when the baby fell asleep again, safely in the bassinet, Edward laid me over his old bed._

" _Your dress'll get wrinkled," he said apologetically as he lifted the hem around my hips._

 _I made no such apology as I pulled up his dress shirt and pulled down his zipper._

 _When he pushed himself inside, we performed an act we'd performed hundreds, maybe thousands of times by then, yet it was still as mind-blowing and exhilarating as our first time. Made possibly even more so by the fact that we were in his old bedroom, and a slew of guests partied downstairs._

 _Edward pulled my hands over my head and wrapped them around the bed frame._

" _Hold on."_

 _With his hands wrapped around mine, he thrust hard, and I arched high, and together, we forgot our surroundings._

" _Want me to wait for you?" he asked afterward as he zipped up._

" _No," I smiled. "You may be able to zip up and go, but I've got to clean up."_

 _He chuckled ruefully. "All right, then. Sorry about your dress," he whispered. "Now, everyone'll know what we were doing."_

" _You're not sorry," I grinned._

" _You know me too well. I'll meet you downstairs. Love you."_

" _I love you too."_

 _OOOOO_

 _It was the ferocity of the hisses which caught my attention as I descended the grand staircase. As I stood frozen, halfway down, already knowing whose voices they were, I wondered at my stupidity at thinking Edward would've just let it go. By then, he'd held it all in for too long, and if anyone knew the dangers of that, it was me._

"… _a fucking man and take care and worry about_ _ **your**_ _son and_ _ **your**_ _woman. Jay needs a real father, someone who'll be there, and who'll teach him how to respect-"_

" _She was my wife first, and you don't have the right-"_

 _I jumped when something…someone hit a wall._

" _She_ _ **was**_ _your wife, and you were the fucking asshole who gave her up. Again, be a fucking man, and live with your choices. I have every fucking right. She's a strong woman, who can take care of herself, but for as long as she allows me, I'll be there to help her. It will_ _ **never**_ _be me who gives her up, and I will fuck up anyone who ever messes with her again. What's more-"_

" _There's more?" Jasper hissed._

 _Again, something hit the wall. "Motherfucker, there's plenty more, but I'll keep it short. What's more, regardless of everything else, it's your job to care for my sister and my nephew. Man the fuck up for them if not for yourself. Make them your goddamn priority._ _ **They're**_ _my family as well," he growled, "so I have every. fucking. right." I heard Edward draw in a deep breath. "Jasper, this is the second time you've pushed me, and you've ended up against a wall. The next time, you'll go through it. Do you understand me?"_

 _A long moment of silence transpired. I never did hear a reply from Jasper, but when he emerged from the shadows under the staircase, looking a bit roughed-up but in one piece, I quickly deduced the answer. He must've spotted me in his periphery because he looked up sharply, shut his eyes tight, and with a deep breath, he padded off, hands buried deep in his pockets._

 _And, from the other end of the large, empty anteroom around the grand staircase, Alice emerged. She met my gaze through cold, empty eyes, holding it for a handful of seconds before walking off slowly in Jasper's direction._

 _With a sigh, I descended the rest of the way and waited for Edward, who met me at the foot of the stairs. He swallowed hard, unable to look at me._

" _I…apologize, Bella. I know you've never wanted a scene like that, so similar to…and especially with our baby right up…" He sighed heavily and raked a hand through his hair._

 _For one, long moment, I simply looked at him, waiting, until he finally met my eyes. Then, I stepped closer and angled my head upward._

" _Do you feel better?" I asked._

 _He stared at me._

" _Edward, you have better self-control than I used to have."_

 _Edward blinked, startled, then he swept me into his arms, lifting my feet off the floor and burying his face in the crook of my neck._

" _Bella, you never say or do what I expect you to, and it's just one of the many reasons why you and our son are my life."_

" _And you've got to protect your life."_

 _He nodded against my shoulder._

 _I pulled away only enough to meet his emerald gaze. "You haven't answered me, though. Do you feel better?"_

 _He searched my eyes._

" _I do now."_

" _Good," I smiled. "Now, let's rejoin the party."_

OOOOO

"Alice," Edward hissed now in the present. Alice looked up sharply, shooting daggers at Edward.

"Bella and I are trying to understand why Jay's father isn't here. We thought we made it clear that we wanted to speak with you both."

Alice set down her coffee menu and leaned closer to Edward.

"I said, I don't know where he is." She spoke with exaggerated languidness. "And not that it's any of your business, but we had a fight, and it's over for good. I don't know where he is, and I don't give a fuck. So, if you needed him here too, you're out of luck." She returned her attention to the menu.

Minutes passed, while I silently tried to determine the best way to handle the situation without giving in to my visions of slapping her.

Edward finally shook his head and pulled me out of my musings. "You know, since Day One, you two failed to provide Jay with anything resembling a stable home, with any sort of example-"

Alice slapped her menu onto the table with a fury that left a rush of air in its wake.

"Is this what you asked me to meet you here for, dear brother, so you can lecture me on how to be a parent? Just because you landed a lucky shot into her," she jerked her chin in my direction – the first acknowledgment of my presence – "doesn't make you any sort of expert at-"

"I swear to God, Alice-"

"Enough," I hissed sharply. "Enough, both of you. For the love of…"

While the three of us sat stiffly at that table, ready to pounce on one another, I drew in a breath and tried to recall all those coping techniques Doctor Rose and I had gone over years ago; techniques which had become a daily part of my routine to stave off those darker demons – demons I was now courting.

Twice in my life, I'd met up with Alice under the most stressful situations. The first time, after I caught her fucking my then-husband. The second time, after I'd learned I was pregnant and that her brother, the father of my baby, the man I loved more than I'd ever loved anyone, was unconscious in a hospital.

Both times I'd reacted in anger; though to varying degrees. This time, even more than those previous times, I couldn't afford to lose control; neither Edward nor I could afford it.

I reached across the table and again wrapped my hand around Edward's.

"Let's…let's start over and try to have a civil conversation."

For the first time since she arrived, Alice met my gaze.

"What exactly do you want to discuss civilly, Bella?"

My heart raced. Over and over, Edward and I had reviewed what we would say. We'd speak plainly, calmly, with no accusations, no bribes or threats. Just facts.

"I don't know if you know this, Alice, but Edward, the baby, and I are leaving for London at the end of the summer. _Gemma_ will be shot over there, on location, and I'll be working closely with the director on editing the screenplay. We're thinking…we're thinking we'll be away for about a year."

"I'm sure you find all this fascinating," Alice said drolly, "going from rags to riches between your luck with mindless readers and with my mindless-"

"Alice," Edward hissed.

I put a hand up and cut off the rest.

"The reason we're sharing this with you, Alice, is because…you know that, over the past couple of years, Edward and I have spent an increasingly significant amount of time with little Jay."

"With _J.J_.," she corrected.

I bit the inside of my lip. "Yes. Yes, with J.J. He…loves his baby cousin, Masen," I chuckled. "When we visit Esme and Carlisle, and J.J.'s there… _we_ love spending time with him. Last year, you allowed us to take him to Chicago with us for a week," I said carefully. "You've allowed us to include him more and more in our family's outings, and I want you to know that I'm grateful for that, Alice."

She held my gaze blandly. "He's not going to London with you, Bella, if that's where this is going. He's _my_ son, not yours," she added, digging a well-manicured nail into her chest before turning the finger toward me so closely, I had to reel back to keep it from poking my eye. "So, if you're planning on playing Little Miss Movie-Maker in jolly, old England, pack up your family and give my J.J. a big kiss goodbye because you won't see him until you return."

With every word she spoke, not only did she dig a dagger deeper into my heart, the way she'd tried to drill that nail into my eye…but my outrage grew exponentially because with this fucking, venomous woman, the animosity would never end. What's more, she had it fucking backward. If I could see past all that had happened, why the fuck-

But…

Once, I'd given in to my outrage toward Alice. Though, in her unmerited defense, it was outrage over two decades in the making. Her heinous actions were the straw which broke the camel's back; the straw which broke me.

The second time I'd given in to my outrage toward Alice, fear for Edward's health overpowered my common sense. Perhaps, had I spoke calmly…remained in control…she and I would be in a different place right now. Not necessarily friends; no. The bitterness between us ran too deep. But for our children's sake, some sort of suspension of hostilities.

And while these thoughts ran through my mind, Edward and Alice exchanged harsh barbs, each one more acidic than the previous one.

"Alice, don't make this decision just to hurt me."

"What?" she spat.

"Make this decision for your son."

"How dare you, Bella? How fucking dare you imply that I'm doing this merely to hurt you." She leaned across the table, her face so close to mine I could see the dark fury which turned eyes a different color yet usually just as bright as Edward's a deep shade of navy. "J.J. is my son. _Mine_ ," she stressed. "And you two think you can come in with your 'Aunt Bella' and 'Uncle Edward' and take him away from me? Why? Because I took Jasper from you?"

She turned her fury on Edward. "Because our father slept with my mother?"

"This has absolutely nothing to do with either of those."

"Bullshit! She wants to raise him because he's Jasper's son, so she can have the final win! And you want to prove that I'm exactly the useless piece of shit you've always believed me to be," she choked.

"Alice," Edward sighed, more exasperated than angry now, "that's not true. None of that is true."

"Yes, it-"

"Alice," I said, "I don't want to take Jay from you. I mean, I do."

"You bitch," she spat.

"Damn it, Alice!" Edward hissed, but again, I squeezed his hand.

"Let me finish, Alice. I _do_ want to take him, but not to get even with you. I want to take him because Edward and I love him. We love him like he's our son, Edward's and mine."

"But he's not yours," she cried bitterly. "He's mine, and he's all I have that's mine."

"I know he's not ours, and that's why, as much as we'd love to take him, even more than that, Alice, we want you to grow the fuck up and take care of your son the way he deserves to be taken care of. Let me finish," I said when she opened her mouth angrily again. "Alice, the past is the past, but it's time we all learned from it. You, Edward, and me, the three of us hold bitter feelings and memories from our childhoods."

"And?" Alice's nostrils flared, her eyes and lips tightening in that way which was causing severe wrinkles.

"We grew up with parents who fucked up majorly, and while I'm not here to excuse what you did by blaming your childhood, I don't want Jay's childhood to be affected by other people's mistakes."

"So, you think you can be a better mother to him?"

"I think I can be a better aunt to him, and Edward can be a better uncle to him _right now_ than you can be a mother because you need to get your shit together, if not for yourself, then for that little boy," I said, my voice breaking despite myself. "He's four-years-old, sweet and innocent, but one day, he might see or hear something which will stay with him forever."

Silent tears streaked her cheeks, which she swiped away.

"Edward and I aren't perfect parents, but we're ready to put Masen and Jay's needs before ours. That's the difference right now between you and us."

"None of that explains why you want to take my son to London," she said defiantly.

"For now, to give you time, Alice," Edward replied. "Like Bella said, you need to get yourself together. If you allow us to take Jay to England, it'll give you some space to figure yourself out. You say it's over with Jasper, but we've heard that before. That guy does nothing for you or for your son, Alice. Get your priorities straight, once and for all."

Alice snorted and offered _me_ a sardonic grin. "I guess _you_ figure I got what I deserved there, don't you? You sure as hell dodged that bullet. Now, what? Now, you get to be the mother to his son, anyway?"

For a long while, I merely held her gaze, until she blinked and turned away.

"Alice, if you say no to letting us take Jay to England, please, please, please," I begged, "let it be for the right reasons; because you're ready to be the mom to him that your little boy deserves."

Her eyes flashed. "You have it all worked out, don't you?"

"Not the way you imagine it, no."

"Al," Edward said, startling me because I'd never heard him call her that. I think it surprised her as well.

"Bella and I…we don't want Jay to grow up knowing that his parents signed him over because no matter how much love we ever give him, that'll always be a burden he'll have to live with. Al, you and I both know how those burdens our parents inadvertently place on us as children follow us through the rest of our lives. We don't want that for Jay. Like Bella said, if you keep us from taking him, let it be because you're ready for him, not to perpetuate a situation which has existed between us long before he was even born."

OOOOO

On a crisp day in September, five years after That Day…four years after Edward and I met…re-met…

It was my thirty-fifth birthday to be exact, and Edward and I, our son…and our nephew sat in a row of seats on a plane headed to London, England, waiting for our flight to take off.

Jay had the window seat. Edward sat next to him, with Masen between us.

While the flight attendants performed final flight checks and Edward texted our friends and family to let 'em know we'd boarded without incident, and that we loved them, and all those things people share when boarding a flight, Masen quietly took in his surroundings.

"Hungry, Masen?" Edward asked our now two-year-old son.

Masen shook his head. His hair, bright red at birth, which made Esme weepy with memories of Baby Edward, was now darkening to a shade closer to Adult Edward's tone, a rich copper so dark it was almost brown. He was a quiet baby, pensive; always studying his surroundings, and exactly like his father in that as well, according to his maternal grandmother. His emerald gaze, also just like his father's since birth, finally landed on Jay, who was excitedly playing with the plastic shade covering the small, oval window.

"Jay, when the flight attendant announces it's time to buckle, it's also time to stop playing with the window, alright?" Edward said.

"Okay, Uncle Edward."

Edward ruffled Jay's blond hair.

"I want play with window," Masen said.

"You'll play with it on the return flight a year or so from now," Edward chuckled.

Masen stared at his father, and Edward leaned in to kiss a nose exactly like his save for size and the bump left over from a fracture…years ago.

"Uncle Edward, Mase can share my seat and play with the window with me!" Jay exclaimed with the excitement of someone who'd solved a major issue.

"Maybe in a little while, Jay. He's okay for now. We don't want to get him too excited before the flight takes off," Edward whispered conspiratorially.

"Oh, okay, Uncle Edward," Jay whispered fervently in return before abandoning the window and taking one, small step in the ultra-narrow aisle space toward his cousin. "Did you hear that, Mase? Did you hear that?" He took Masen's small hand into his slightly larger one. "We can play with the window together in a little while! Woo-hoo!" When he threw a small fist in the air, Masen decided it was the most hilarious thing he'd ever seen, and belly laughed so long and hard he ended up hiccupping.

"Again, Jay, again!"

"Woo-hoo!"

Masen threw back his copper head and roared in amusement.

"Again, Jay! Again!"

This went on for the next five minutes.

"Uncle Edward, Mommy said she'd come to visit me soon – for Christmas she said. She'll come, right?"

"I think so, Jay. I think she will."

"Okay, Uncle Edward. Will my baby cousin Gracie be with us for Christmas too?"

"Not yet, Jay. She's still got to finish growing nice and healthy and strong in Aunt Bella's belly."

"Little sistuh, Gwacie," Masen said.

"Yep, Masen. Your little sister Gracie will be with us in a few, short months."

"Aunt Bella says when Baby Gracie is born, Mase and I can both take turns-"

"You have a lovely family," an older lady across the aisle noted. "Enjoy them while they're little."

"Thank you, and I fully intend to," I smiled in return. When I turned back around, Edward was watching me. He reached across our son and knit his fingers through mine.

"You feeling okay?"

"Perfectly fine."

"No nausea?"

"Not right now…Edward…I was thinking…"

"What were you thinking?"

"When everyone comes to visit for Christmas, and we get married, let's hyphenate our last names, okay?"

For a handful of seconds, he remained frozen. Then, he gave me one of those smiles I adored, the ones that started softly at the corners of his mouth and grew until they became a grin infused with so much joy…a grin which conveyed all his love – the way it always had.

"Okay, Bella. But why are you so quiet, love?"

It was a long moment before I could reply, and when I did, I thought of my beautifully restored, framed quote, safely sent ahead to our new home in England with the rest of our valuable treasures.

The priceless ones were right here.

"I'm enjoying the beauty of the meadow on the other side."

 **THE END.**

 **A/N: Thoughts?**

 **Facebook: Stories by PattyRose**

 **Twitter: PattyRosa817**

 **Completing a story is always bittersweet for me. Thanks again, and…BROKEN will follow soon. It's BREAK from Edward's point of view, and with sides to the story not seen in BREAK. :)**


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